#mysteria157

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Black Fem Reader

CW: Profanity, Light Angst, Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Cowgirl, Fingering, Fingersucking, Cunnilingus, Slight Dom Reader (not much), Car Sex, Bathroom Sex

WC: ~16k (It's long so get some snacks)

Summary: 

Maybe you're single for a reason. You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations, and you refuse to settle for less. For the ones who aren't worth the air they breathe, you chew them up and spit them out. You savor the taste so you know what to avoid the next time.

So when he looks down at you with that devilish smirk and calls you 'Princess', you're determined to prove that Toji Fushiguro is no exception.

Notes: Hello! This is my first fic with Toji and I'm nervous to get it out here. The setting of this fic and the elements I incorporated connect a lot with my own childhood and the memories (not the interactions in this fic) that I had at family cookouts and get-togethers. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon Header: myself (stability.ai)

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | **Sequel**

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

“Can I get you a drink, princess?”

When you meet Toji Fushiguro for the first time, it’s on the fourth of July at your uncle’s house. It’s a big get-together at a two-story house located in the countryside. Every year he opens up his spacious home for a gathering of your extended family to bring excessive amounts of alcohol, play old school rap and R&B too loudly, devour delicious fucking food, and set off fireworks that have been collected since the beginning of the year. 

Your uncle has already made a home by the grill and taken control of the speakers after one of your younger cousins attempted to play something ‘a little too racy’ for his tastes. You’re pretty sure it was an Ice Cube song from the 90s that your uncle hates but is too proud to admit, so he lectures your cousin about ‘what young folks should be listening to’ instead. 

The smell of hamburgers and ribs has been teasing your nose for the past hour, and your hunger is borderline unbearable with each sniff. You avoid the allure of the long table of food because if you look, you’ll be three plates in before the meat is done. There’s coleslaw, baked beans, greens, and macaroni and cheese. Your favorite aunt also brought her potato salad and you know she’s going to make yellow cake with chocolate frosting fresh before the fireworks. You love it so much and you were deprived of it last year when you were called in to work at the last minute. You will get some today.

The backyard is expansive and well-maintained, and your cousins and aunts have already laid their claim on swanky cushions of the nice patio furniture. 

The one cousin you’re closest to in age and personality sits next to you on a large blanket a few yards away from the rising volume of your extended family. You were able to get a good ten minutes of conversation from her before her fiancé showed up and made a home inside of her mouth.

Your family normally has something to say about PDA—a stupid quip about acting ‘too grown’ even though you are both knocking on the door of thirty. But she doesn’t care—just like you, that’s why you like her so much even though her fiancé is sucking on her face like it’s his last day on Earth.

Shiu Kong is nice—gentle in his own way and carries himself with a bored air that seems to pull your cousin in. He’s enamored with her, practically folds in on himself when she’s around, and worships the ground she walks on. They’ve been together for a few years and you’ve never had a problem with him.

But that just might change today because he’s brought along a friend who has already ignited a flame of arousal and annoyance deep within your belly. From the moment Toji Fushiguro stepped into the backyard with Shiu, your family was transfixed. Your aunts can’t stop ogling, and your uncles and male cousins try to jokingly size him up.

“Oh honey why don’t you sit down, don’t be shy. Lemme get you something to drink.”

“That’s not steroids? It’s gotta be. Don’t play.”

“How much you bench?”

It’s annoying. So fucking annoying but you can’t help but agree. He’s a little older—maybe early thirties—but dangerously attractive.

Raven hair that reaches his ears, looks unbelievably soft and falls over emerald green eyes. A grey shirt hugs him too fucking deliciously for your comfort and dark jeans hug an ass that’s too fucking juicy. He’s a big man—a burly man and unfortunately, that’s how you like them.

Big, burly like a bear, respectful, and capable of making you feel small and protected but also valuing and worshipping you as a woman. Unfortunately, such men are hard to come by because you tend to intimidate them. You don’t tolerate disrespect in any form and quickly put men in their place if they try to undermine, belittle, or confuse protection with control. You know what you want, and you refuse to settle for less. 

They can’t stand it.

And right now, you can’t stand Toji. As he looks down at you with a well-worn smirk on his face, a smirk that suggests he has plenty of experience in situations like this, your irritation grows. He’s a smooth talker, confident in almost everything he says. His voice is deep, but melodic in a strangely feminine way that makes his words slide like silk down your back, and the minute you heard it, your thighs threatened to rub together. 

Definitely a smooth talker. But the nickname you don’t care for. 

Princess.

Like you’re a dainty little thing who will bat her eyelashes and call him Daddy. It makes your walls of self-defense rise even higher, and the gentle smile you had given Shiu when he first said hello moments ago transforms into the beginnings of a frown. 

Without hesitation, you rise to your feet, plant your wedges firm into the grass, and turn away from them before muttering, “I’m good.”

Toji simply shrugs; a gesture that annoys you even more because he doesn’t offer any other reaction that satisfies you. He settles into your previously vacated spot, leaning back on his hands. The jacket on his shoulders falls open and the sight of his shirt hugging his muscles is too much for you.

You inwardly curse as your eyes wander over his physique. Thick pectorals that you could easily rub your face against and make a pillow for yourself to sleep on stretch the fabric in a way that you’re sure it’ll rip. Abdominals tease just below the surface of his shirt that clings to him like a second skin. You want to lick between each one, press your teeth into the hard skin to make him wince and beg as you count each one.

Four, six, eight? 

Fuck.

You don’t show how you want to straighten your spine against the chill of being caught staring. That smirk is on his face again, tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s a scar on the right side that slashes vertically over his top and bottom lip and you dislike the arousal that begins to boil between your legs from the sight. You wonder how he got it. If it was a fight, did he win? The thought of him wrestling another man to the floor and taking a cut to the face in the process shouldn’t arouse you, but god it does. 

His eyes make you think of moss as you watch them slide up your body, and it almost feels like invisible hands caressing you. They’re large and pale, littered with scars along the knuckles as they glide up your exposed chocolate legs, dip between your inner thighs, and caress the curves of your hips.

“See something you like?” 

He’s ogling you but has the nerve to try and put you on the spot? You have enough self-control to let logic worm through the rising lust inside of you. You sneer down at him, sharp enough for Shiu to visibly pale and your cousin to giggle at.

“To be honest, I don’t really see much.”

You don’t give him a chance to retort and you pretend not to hear the soft hum of nonchalance he throws back. You walk away from them, turning just in time to shield the way your eyes widen at the feel of your face and neck prickling with heat.

The moment you close the bathroom door inside your uncle’s house, the breath trapped within your lungs escapes in a rush. You press your forehead against the wood and the coolness of it offers only little relief to the burning of your skin. 

You turn your head and press your cheek against the wood so the cold surface can slide along your cheek as you open your eyes to take in your reflection.

Of course, Toji would ogle you. You’re confident enough to know your beauty.

A red sundress that hugs your curves, stops at your mid-thighs. Knotless braids with curled ends are piled on top of your head in a loose bun with a few strands that spill along your hairline.

You’re good-looking. But you’ve been out of practice with a man for a long time. Your last relationship ended when you caught him balls-deep in your coworker. You’re too shy to pursue a one-night stand and not detached enough for a situationship. 

However, you could risk it all for Toji and you hate that you’re entertaining the thought. You hate that you’re imagining him barging into the bathroom, bending you over the counter, and taking you from behind with his large hand digging into the small of your back and whispering how much of a good girl you are as you beg him to cum.

God, get yourself together.

To calm yourself down, you find solace in your uncle’s quiet kitchen. There’s only one person occupying it, your favorite aunt, who is heavily pregnant and working on the yellow cake that you’ve been thinking about all day. You use the opportunity to distract yourself and take over for her, shooing her away to relax in the backyard. 

You crack an egg against the off-white countertop, fractures splitting up the sides before spilling its contents into the silver mixing bowl in front of you. A self-deprecating thought slithers in your ears, and whispers loudly with wicked intention. 

Toji wouldn’t want a woman like you.

You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations. It pushes them all away, and although you normally take pride in keeping away those who aren’t worth your time, it can get lonely. 

To see your ex actively cheating on you was icing on a cake that was slowly cooking in an oven of your own self-doubt. You have standards, and while your friends consider you the voice of reason in their misfortunes with men, most members of your family think you’re too picky. You’re too much work, ‘you think you know everything’. 

“Men will always have a wandering eye, it’s up to you to keep them in check, girl.”

“Honey, I love you, but the more you pick apart a man, the less he will want to be around you.”

“They love it when you cook for them, girl. Take care of your man and keep him fed and you’ll keep him forever.”

Bullshit.

It’s bullshit to take care of a man in the same way his own mother does. It’s bullshit to lose all sense of self and independence, to wait on a man when he gives you less than nothing in return—when he can hardly give you the bare minimum. You don’t mind cooking for a man who takes care of you, who loves and values you, who would never hold you back and would encourage you when you can hardly encourage yourself.

But all the good ones are in relationships now, married with a few kids, and in your resolve to stay strong and weed out the bad to find the good, it’s left you a little bitter.

Most black families are old school, and yours is no exception. They hold ‘for better or worse’ a little too close to their heart. They cling to an ideal that a man runs the household down to the basics in a way that makes you uneasy and in your defense, you snap when you’re backed into a corner.

You love them, you truly do, but they probably will never understand just how aware you are of the world and how little you are willing to put up with the problematic things that others consider normal.

Your ex was great at first. But he got comfortable. And when he got comfortable, he got lazy, a little too controlling, and a little too frustrated when you asked for certain things in the bedroom. The only person who knows about your breakup is your mother, who had the gall to be out of the country for work, leaving you to fend for yourself for today. 

You watch as the batter spills on each side of your wooden spoon, parting and then falling back together like sand. In your reverie, you don’t notice a few of your relatives who have now entered the kitchen and are roaming through the fridge. You can hear one of your least favorite aunts—the bitchy one—playfully joking with someone, and whatever drivel comes out of her mouth makes that person laugh. It’s deep and suave enough to make a tingle of electricity stutter down your spine because you know it’s him.

Refusing to look in their direction, you continue mixing the batter until the lumps disappear.

“You been hiding in this kitchen for awhile now,” your aunt begins, Atlanta accent the most grating it’s ever been as she turns her gaze toward you. “You’re normally a little more talkative when your man is here. He not coming?”

There is not a trace of genuine concern in her tone. You and her bicker often; she presses your buttons and then gets mad when you press back. Your ex’s infidelity is ammunition you don’t want to give her, but being caught in a lie is something she would only treasure more to use against you later. 

You clear your throat and turn the spoon in the batter once, then twice before answering without looking her way.

“No, he actually came inside of my coworker a few weeks ago. So we split up.”

You can feel the noise before you hear it—a characteristic and sharp ‘mmm’ that seems to be ingrained in your family’s DNA. It makes your grip tighten on the wooden spoon, and you scrape along the bottom of the bowl until it screeches on the metal.

“You gotta watch out for this one, Toji. She’s always been an outspoken one. Too good for ‘em all and likes to be a little mean to her men.”

You scrape harder and then turn to her, a sickly sweet smile plastered on your face. 

“You’re right. The fact that I won’t settle for someone who will get bored with me after a few years makes me way too good for them. Should have turned the other cheek just like you did with your last husband. Or…was it the one before him?”

You catch the way Toji pulls his lips in to bite down on them, scar twitching as he fights to hold in a snicker.

Your aunt glares at you, purses her lips, and turns them to the side before pulling in a noise that has been passed down for generations. Her mother and her mother’s mother used the very same tactic to strike fear and insignificance in their children when they talked back. It’s a sucking of air between her teeth and the sound makes years of discipline from your own mother flash in your mind like you’re in the trenches of war. 

You know she wants to say something, and you can taste the ‘you always got something to say’ in the air before Toji slides from his perch against the counter and places a hand on your aunt’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you a drink, huh? Didn’t you say you wanted me to try the beer you brought in?” She throws you a knowing glare before letting Toji lead her away; because if there is one thing that will distract her from showing out, it’s letting a good-looking man touch her.

The shaking in your hands helps you sift in the dry ingredients—a mix of sugar, flour, and baking soda—into the batter. The breaths through your nostrils are heavy and thick with anger, and the corners of your eyes sting with heat. You whip the batter harder than necessary, your aunt’s words replaying in your mind like a broken record.

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. Don’t—

The sight of a can of hard seltzer pressing onto the counter in front of you makes the ramblings in your mind stop. Familiar long fingers unfurl from the can and slide on the counter, their fingertips touching the edges of your mixing bowl in an effort to get to you.

“I would have given you a bottle of beer. But I had a feeling you might bash it over your aunt’s head.” He’s not wrong, and in your frustrated state, you consider his defense admirable. “I like a fight, but I’m a guest and the food looks good.” 

Your grip on the spoon loosens slightly as Toji leans casually against the refrigerator, arms crossed over bulging biceps that stretch the short sleeves of his shirt. His jacket is now gone, and you can’t help but notice the veins in his forearms that protrude, tempting you to lick against them.

It takes the sheer will to tear your eyes away and focus on pouring the batter into the bundt cake mold, observing as it fills the intricate crevices. 

“So he cheated? Most men are pigs.”

“But not you, huh?” you can’t help but retort, shaking the mold to disperse the air pockets that bubble on the surface.

In your peripheral, he shrugs. “I know what I like in a woman and once I get what I want, it makes no sense to look somewhere else unless she wants me gone. I’m a man…but I’m a loyal man.”

When you meet his emerald gaze, you can see a hint of pain and vulnerability that unsettles you, tilts you back on your heels from the force of his honesty. You reach for the can of seltzer and take a long swig to give yourself time to get your thoughts in order. The carbonation is sweet and fizzles along the sides of your tongue and down your throat. 

“So what is it you like in a woman, Toji?”

It’s a question that probably should have been left untouched, but your curiosity overpowers your restraint. You don’t want to go back outside, because if your aunt is still feeling particularly petty, she will say something that will only make you leave. And you don’t feel like letting your family win today. 

Toji’s strong gaze certainly isn’t helping. Those invisible hands slide along the crevices and dips of your body, stroking the small of your back before pressing featherlight against the back of your neck. The hairs rise in response, your skin prickling with gooseflesh. 

Unexpectedly, he pushes off the refrigerator and walks closer to you, and you’re too shocked to back away. Despite his imposing stature, you know he won’t harm you. There’s something about him that’s warm and inviting, soft and tender even though his exterior is hard lines and muscle. The two of you are now mere inches apart, and the air feels thin as if you’ve reached the summit of a mountain and struggle to breathe due to the change in altitude. 

Jet black locks graze against a rough cheek, the tips kissing the raised scar on the side of his mouth. Up close you can see his features more closely. His eyes are sharp and intense with deep green between his lids as if hiding a pearl in an oyster. Thin eyebrows make him look more serious and cutting and you’re swallowing back drool because your nose picks up a faint whiff of woodsy amber emitting from his body. It smells cheap—he’s put together in the most basic sense—but it still smells…good.

“I like a woman who knows what she’s about. Independent and doesn’t fuck around. Smart and pretty with curves I can grab and squeeze. Someone with some sass and isn’t afraid to put anyone in their place.”

He steps closer and your lungs heave in a desperate attempt to pull in air. The brush of the wall against your back makes you stutter out your exhale and you press your palms flat against the cool surface to keep you grounded.

“I like a woman with nice creamy brown skin that smells a little like the cake she’s baking…” Through the sea of delirium, you distantly realize that he’s describing you. “The red dress definitely is a bonus.”

That familiar smirk pulls against his lips again and your heart is thundering in your chest. You would be surprised if he couldn’t see it thumping erratically beneath the skin between what’s exposed of your cleavage. 

But this is just another trick in their book to get you in their bed. Or in the bathroom. Or over the kitchen counter.

And as much as you want to, you can’t give in. Because you’ll hate yourself tomorrow.

So you tilt your chin up at him and narrow your eyes at his amused expression. 

“Describing me in place of your ‘ideal woman’? That’s boring. Go use it on my bitchy aunt, she’s got fillers in her ass so that’s more curves for you to ‘grab and squeeze’ when she throws herself on you after the Hennessey kicks in.”

Toji’s eyes widen slightly before a harsh laugh barks from his mouth. It’s surprisingly nice on your ears and rattles the drums inside in a way that you don’t dislike. He pulls away from you, giving you a few more inches of space and the altitude in the air seems to level out enough for you to take an inconspicuous deep breath. 

“Nah, nothing against fillers, but I’m more of a natural man myself,” he admits.

“Cellulite and stretch marks?” you ask with a lift of a brow, teasing but…mildly curious.

You watch as that smile slowly slides on his face, teeth glittering and eyebrows raising. He looks like he’s hit the jackpot. 

“The whole package, princess.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile, you push down the lingering arousal in your stomach, refusing to let it simmer. He’s funny and you appreciate a man who loves the raw and often overlooked intricacies of a woman.

His response is disorienting, throwing you off balance, and you’re unsure of what to do next. Your usual response is to talk back, to take delight in a man fumbling when his own cards have been turned against him. But you can’t think of anything right now. 

You move around him to place the bundt cake mold into the oven, setting a timer with the plastic buttons above the stove. Snatching the seltzer from the counter, you lean back against the oven, putting a considerable distance between the two of you to think. 

Toji mimics your movements, retreating to the fridge to relax against it, folding his arms across his chest, and god he still takes up the room. Even though you’re further away, it still seems like you can smell the cologne as if it’s sitting right on the skin below your nose.

“Do your moves always work on women?” you ask before taking a good swig of your seltzer.

He shrugs in response and turns around to dig a beer from the fridge. You don’t bother to hold back the urge to leer at him. You want to grab his ass, listen to him squeal in surprise, and blush in embarrassment when you squeeze. The thought of digging your fingers into the skin of it as he fucks you nice and slow makes your mind short circuit, a computer rebooting and making a loud noise before frying out indefinitely.

“On the rare occasion that I happen to use them, yes they always work. But…obviously not on you.”

“I’m not easy to win over. You need to be worth my time.” Your eyes flicker up to his face before he turns around to face you.

He takes a swig of his beer and you watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow. The column of his throat is long and pale and you want to slide your tongue along the side to taste the saltiness of his skin.

“What’s it going to take?”

His interest in you is admirable, and a small part of you is giddy with the attention. But you’re nervous to give him an inch when most are quick to take a mile.

“I have a name so stop calling me princess. I’m not a royal, so unless you’re offering me land, money, or power, I don’t want to hear it.”

He barks out another laugh, his thick chest shaking and eyes closing as he throws his head back. You despise how good it sounds and you’re reminded of these moments when men seem so beautiful and wonderful before the ugliest parts of them are visible.

“What else?” he inquires, still chuckling as he takes another long sip.

“If you’re expecting sex from me, think again. I don’t do one-night stands or friends with benefits. It’s messy and I just don’t have the strength for it.”

He seems to consider your remark as if he has no choice but to weigh your stipulation before signing a contract. Then he smirks that devilish smirk that makes your cunt pulse between your thighs when you know damn well it shouldn’t. You cannot be this turned on by this man.

“Not even if I have a big dick?” he teases.

He’s annoying and you’re mildly disgusted but still willing to banter with him, so you grimace and roll your eyes. “What, you want me to take a look first before I make up my mind?”

He full-on grins, the fucker. “If that’s what it takes.”

But in true fashion, you bounce back with your own quip. “Public indecency is a crime and I also don’t like to look at cock until after I’ve eaten something. It’s nauseating.”

Laughter erupts from him once again, loud and boisterous that it seems to shake the oven against your back. He probably thinks you’re joking. But you’re not. Dick already looks alien. Looking at dick on purpose without any sense of arousal is pathological behavior. 

Your heart flips in your chest when he pushes off the refrigerator again, taking a swig of his beer as he saunters to you and the sight is criminal. Your fingers dig just slightly into the metal can in your hands, a faint pop emanating from it. 

“What are you bothering me for anyway,” you can’t help but ask, frustration coating your words as you frown more at yourself than at Toji. “I have so many other cousins here who are single and would love to get their hands on you.”

At first, he doesn’t respond, and in the silence, you struggle to take a full breath again. You don’t like that he’s so close to you, but you also love the way he smells and the way he looks at you as if you’re someone and not something to fucking eat. You’re a fucking mess. 

His head tilts slightly, and his hair follows the movement, brushing against his cheeks as his eyes take you in instead of scrutinizing you. 

The air feels thin again, and you ready yourself to leave when your pregnant aunt suddenly barges back into the kitchen and stops short at the scene. Toji takes a slow step back, not really bothering to fumble at being so close to you. You’re sure he doesn’t really care.

She’s your favorite for a reason because she understands. She’s not dismissive and mean and she simply smiles knowingly at you both before gesturing with her head towards the backdoor.

“Time to eat. Honey, why don’t you show Toji what’s what before your uncles steal everything.”

***

He stays close to you when you both make it outside, and you do your best to ignore your bitchy aunt’s gaze from her perch in one of the patio chairs. The spread of food makes your mouth water and you waste no time grabbing a plate for yourself and absentmindedly handing Toji one as well.

“I’ve never had some of this before,” he admits, and his voice is a little apprehensive from next to you as he takes everything in. It makes sense, this is probably his first cookout…his first black cookout at least. Strangely, you’re proud to be the one to guide him along.

“What is this?” he asks, pointing to the heavy helping of greens and ham hocks on his plate minutes later. You’re both at a small table alone and away from the noise.

“Collard greens…it’s a cabbage that’s cooked in a pot for a few hours with spices and broth. The ham hocks give it flavor, cook it before you add the greens so the meat falls off the bone better.” 

You bite your lip to keep from laughing as Toji gives them a wayward glance, an arch of a thin brow that makes his features more handsome than they should be, and then he takes a tentative bite before moaning sinfully in appreciation. The vertebrae of your spine lock in place, stiff with a sudden chill at the noise as you picture it slipping from his lips while you ride him until the hinges fall off. 

You take your own bite to stop anything stupid from coming out of your mouth.

You figure he has to eat to accommodate for his size but to see it in action is something else entirely. He finishes two plates in fifteen minutes and as he makes his way to get another serving, your bitch of an aunt speaks up from across the lawn.

“Why don’t you get up and get him another plate?”

Why don’t you shut the fuck up?

You grip the plastic fork in your hand tightly, digging into your diminishing potato salad and swallowing the vile that you want to throw her way. 

Make your man a plate before you make yours, get him a drink, get him another helping so he doesn’t have to, keep him fed.

Maybe this is why you’re single. You want to scream. You want—

“Don’t listen to her. You’re still eating, don’t move,” he levels, and you don’t miss the hint of irritation in his own voice as he gets up. “The same seltzer as before?” he asks, pointing to your drink that you didn’t realize was empty.

“I—”, you fumble before clearing your throat. “I like the strawberry one…if there’s any left.”

He shoots a wink your way and your body ignites with heat.

Your cousin worms her way over when Toji disappears, and you try your best to ignore the sly look on her face.

“Defending your honor from our bitchy aunt? My, my, the perfect recipe for your feminist heart.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, shoving the last of the potato salad in your mouth. 

“He’s Shiu’s best friend. Moved here from Japan a few months ago and is living in the same city as you. It could be fate? You want his number?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap again, feeling exasperated but knowing that unless Shiu is here to stop her, she will talk until she’s tired or you’re swinging at her.

She giggles, undeterred and gearing up for more. “He’s single too. And you’ve got all our other cousins mad as hell because he won’t leave you alone.” You don’t reply, because you’re mildly intrigued and impressed with yourself. It’s nice to have the attention from someone so attractive; it’s just figuring out if he’s genuine that’s the headache. “When the music gets louder tonight…or when the fireworks go off, take him upstairs and fuck him on—”

“Didn’t I say—fuck you.”

She guffaws, loud and unabashed and it pulls a smile from the side of your mouth. You know she doesn’t mean it, you know that at gatherings like these, you’re the black sheep and she just wants you to enjoy yourself.

“Seriously though, cousin. Shiu doesn’t keep many around, but they’ve been friends since they were kids. That’s a good sign right?”

There’s some merit to it, but you still want to be careful.

And Toji Fushiguro makes it hard for you to be careful because he wants you around him all the time and is unashamed to show it. 

Later in the night when the music is booming old school hip hop that your uncle won’t shut up about (he’s drunk), your other uncles—and a few cousins they will definitely con—have a table already bustling with spades. At first, you’re unsure how they convinced Toji to join, but he’s partnered with one of your cousins who has no clue about the game, and you realize they just want Toji to lose so they can feel good.  

Feeling curious, you pretend to bring Toji a beer. He’s frowning down at the cards, irritated with his lips curled into a small scowl and your cousin is trying to act like he knows what to do, but his stupidity is palpable even from where you stand.

You offer him a beer and ignore the fact that the one on the table is still full. When he looks up at you, his sharp eyes hold you like a vice, frustration evaporating quickly before opportunity takes its place.

“Help me.” He doesn’t bother to hide the confusion in his voice and you can’t help the way your stomach flips. 

One of your uncle’s snickers. “She doesn’t know how to play.” You do. “But she can try.”

You’re so annoyed, and you want to snap at him but Toji is pulling you closer to him with a muscular arm before you can. You’re in his lap before you know it, sitting precariously on a thick thigh with your back pressed against a broad chest and you can’t breathe again. The fluctuating altitudes are making you lightheaded.

Any other time and you wouldn’t hesitate to turn around and knock a man’s teeth in for grabbing you. But against your better judgment, you relax into Toji instead. His cheap cologne smells way too fucking good, he’s so big and warm against your body and your throat is drying up like you’ve taken a big breath in the middle of the Sahara.

“Don’t grab me like that,” you can’t help but grumble, only mildly put off.

“I improvised.” It’s a feeble excuse wrapped around a heavenly chuckle in your ear and you pray to whoever is listening, mentally offering up a sacrificial lamb, anything to ensure you don’t drip all over his thigh. “Now help me win.”

You do. Three times. He's adamant about winning and you're sure he has a gambling problem. And if your legs go a little numb from sitting on his thigh or if you lean into the way his outside hand slides to hold the curve of your waist, you don’t complain about it.

***

“You don’t dance?” Toji asks an hour later, joining you on the blanket that you occupied when you first arrived. It’s almost sunset, and the orange of the sky covers half of the backyard as your family revels in their merriment.

You shrug at Toji’s question, gazing at members of your family who are dancing in the yard. One of your loudest uncles is boasting about the music as he teaches one of your cousins dance steps. That used to be you so many years ago, and the moves are like muscle memory as you watch them. One of your aunts takes over the stereo, beginning what will surely be an hour of reminding everyone of the greatest hits. 

You suddenly realize that it’s just you and Toji on the blanket. Your cousin and Shiu are off god knows where, and given her penchant for being a rebellious freak, she’s probably riding him on your uncle’s bed. The thought makes you shudder.

“Are you cold?” he probes, pulling you out of your thoughts.

It is cooler now, but that’s not why you were shivering. You’re ready to tell him no, to start shaking your head even as you watch him pull his own jacket off to place it over your shoulders. His hands smooth over your shoulders and down your arms as if securing it closer to your skin and your blood boils beneath your cheeks. Your skin isn’t light enough to show when you’re blushing, but you’re burning with nervousness.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you hiss instinctively, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. The surprise is evident on his face and you immediately feel guilty. “I’m—I’ll only be mean to you in return.”

For the first time of the night, he looks angry. His eyebrows dip, the scar on his cheek twists with the harsh frown on his lips and he gives a severe ‘tch’ that makes you gape at him. “Why because you’re mean to men?” he snaps, impatient and free of any tease. 

It raises your hackles instantly, and you’re talking back before you know it. “Exactly. So why don’t you take a hint and stop trying to get into my pants—”

You feel a rough finger on the side of your cheek turn you further towards him, preventing you from looking at anything else.

“You just don’t like bullshit. Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.” 

For once, you don’t have anything to say even though your hand is twitching with the urge to slap the words from his mouth. You want to. It’s easy for you to fight back and push them away, you’re good at it. But you can’t fight the way his gaze seems to calm you down against your better judgment.

You pull your face from his hold and roll your shoulders, sliding out of his sharp gaze and turning back to your lively family. One of your cousins is arguing about why the Cowboys didn’t make it into the playoffs, and now everyone has something to say.

You pull in a deep breath, scolding yourself to relax just a little. He hasn’t been so bad, and you’re not one to make things intentionally difficult if a man is honestly trying. You’re still apprehensive about his intentions…but he is trying without being a beast. So you exhale your frustrations into the July air, calm down so your heart can steady its frantic pounding from the lingering scent of his cologne, and dig your fingers into your uncle’s well-kept grass.

“Fine. If I let you be nice to me…what would be the next thing you would say?”

You can’t look at him, but you feel his eyes on your body as you pluck a few blades of grass from the soil. The strands slide against the pads of your fingertips, rough and threatening to cut, before fluttering in the breeze when you release them. 

He’s grabbing you again, tenderly but possessively, sliding you into his embrace so your back is to his muscular chest, his chin rests on the side of your temple and his arms wrap around your waist. Your heart is back to leaping in your chest, pumping loud and fast in your ears, drowning out the music and arguing as if you’re underwater.

“How about you tell me about your family?” he suggests, voice unmuffled through the thickness of your hearing.

It’s a random ask, as if he wants to impress them, as if you’ve been dating for a long period of time and he wants to be prepared to meet them for the first time. The thought doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, even though you know it would never be a reality anyway. You don’t know if he’s just joking and frankly, the feel of him against you is warmer than his jacket on your shoulders and you don’t want to leave.

So, if it means he can stay put, you give in. You tell him about your aunts, uncles, and cousins—where they are from and what they do. You share your traditions when you all get together and the small intricacies you all share. It’s incredibly personal…maybe even too intimate. But he listens, and hums to let you know he’s paying attention, and asks you questions as you talk.

Eventually, his cheek rests on the crown of your head against your braids and you surprisingly don’t mind at all. When you notice his arms wrapped around you, you get a better view of the scars on his arms and fingers, and there is a rising urge to ask how he got each one.

“So she’s been married twice?” his voice is low in your ear so you can only hear him in the noisy backyard. His breath smells faintly of the beer he finished an hour ago, and it slides along the skin of your neck hot and thick. You resist the urge to cant your neck to the side to give his breath more room to roam.

You nod. “She got the fillers after the first husband. Those brought in the second husband. Then he left her for some girl in Cali.”

“Cali?’ he questions, confused.

You snort softly. “California.” You elbow him and the bone slides against hard muscle. Dammit. “You don’t know your states?”

“I’m foreign, not stupid.” The laugh that bubbles from your chest is sharp and you can’t help the smile that pulls against your cheeks from it. “I know my states!” He sounds truly annoyed and for some reason that makes you laugh harder. “Florida, Kansas—”

“I’m not asking you to prove yourself!” you sputter around a giggle, shaking in his embrace. But he’s not listening.

“Montana, New York…there’s another one…the big one.”

You gawk, turning just a little to crane your head up at him. He looks down at you with an embarrassed expression, his cheeks a little rosy even though his lips are flickering with the urge to laugh. 

“I beg your finest pardon…the big one?”

The side of his face twists in the nastiest way, and he’s angry at being questioned. “Don’t—it’s the one down below!”

“In relation to what?”

His eyes narrow, emerald barely noticeable between thick lashes. You can sense his hold on you tightening slightly, his chest stutters in a huff and you realize with rising glee that he’s pouting. Normally you would revel in this…but—

“Texas,” you find yourself speaking up at him, voice soft and gentle on the edges. “The big one down below is Texas.”

He simply hums, his chest vibrating against your back, but his gaze is smoldering, taking you in and dipping down to your lips before flickering back up your eyes. You’re too hot now, his jacket against your skin too suffocating, your heart beating too fast against your ribcage.

You hate just how rebellious you like to be. “What, you gonna kiss me?”

The challenge is fleeting across his features and he leans down so quickly that you don’t have time to react. Your stomach flips with irritation at the implication that he would take from you without asking, and suddenly, you no longer want him touching you.

“I wouldn’t take it without asking,” he whispers in the small space between you both as if reading your thoughts. The tips of his raven locks brush against your cheek, there’s a slight kink in your neck from how you are looking up at him, but he’s so close that you don’t care. One of his hands skims up from your waist, caressing the curve of your ribs, and his thumb teasingly runs along the underside of your clothed breast. His touch is reactive in you, and you angle your body further into his actions. His gaze remains locked on yours, absorbing your very being without doing a thing and you’re fighting to stay in control.

“So can I?” he asks, voice deep with temptation. “Kiss you?”

You swallow the bucket of drool that has somehow pooled in the back of your throat in seconds. The thumping of your heart no longer fills your ears, replaced now by a deafening ringing, spurred by your growing desire as you open your mouth to respond. 

“I…depends…are you any good?”

He nonchalantly shrugs, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as his scarred lips twist into a smirk. He’s completely calm and you can tell if you told him no, he would leave it alone entirely. But he’s enjoying this, you can see it all over his face.

“Jury’s still out.”

You don’t trust yourself to say ‘yes’. Some part of you feels like if it comes out of your mouth, it will sound too desperate and you want to stay in control as much as you can. But, you could give yourself this. You’ve earned it. Just one kiss and then you could hide away until the fireworks and then use the noise as a cover to leave. After all, he’s hot. He’s been so nice and honest and the warning siren in your mind has long faded.

You deserve a reward.

So you nod, stiffly but enough for him to notice, and the air seems to thin out again when he leans in a little more.

“Toji!” one of your uncles calls out, severing through the heavy cloud of lust between you both like a knife. You recoil from his touch, his touch now only making you itchy, and you pull from his embrace so that his arms unravel and his jacket slides off your shoulders. The cooler air is freezing this time against your skin. “Come help me with the fireworks, would you?”

You don’t pay attention to his response, because you’re already up on your feet and making your way inside the house. Your body floods with the embarrassment and shame of being caught by your family…kissing a man that you’ve just met. You know you shouldn’t care…but it’s so easy for their behavior to rub off on you when you feel vulnerable.

***

Thankfully, no one is in the kitchen when you finally make it inside. The music dulls down when you close the backyard door and the ringing in your ears is now silent. 

You resolve to stay inside until the fireworks go off. No one is really paying attention to you anyway—most of them are drunk, others too absorbed in the music and gossip so it’s a perfect chance for you to duck away and show your face again next year.

Should you tell Toji goodbye?

No.

No, you hardly know the man. Just a few hours in good company and a kiss that almost happened that you probably would have let escalate. You probably would have let his tongue slide into your mouth. Probably would have let him pull you into one of the spare rooms, eat you out until you’re seeing stars, and then bend you over the edge of the bed to fuck you until he—

For fuck’s sake.

You yank open one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a glass. You need water because your body is piping hot. There’s a sheen of sweat on your neck beneath the layer of braids that fell when Toji laid his cheek on your head, and your hands are slick as they press into the counter to give you strength to peek into one of the lower shelves. Of course, the only one in the cabinet would be on the highest shelf. Of course, you’re too fucking short.

You climb onto the counter, knees digging into the off-white surface as you lift yourself up and peer into one of the higher shelves. You spot a glass, and you can have a heaping glass to cool yourself off enough to get you home. And then you can just use your vibrator once and go to sleep. Or twice. Or maybe a third time to get the thought of him out of your mind for the foreseeable future. 

Unbeknownst to you, he’s standing behind you. You didn’t even hear the back door open and close. But you catch a glimpse of a long, muscular arm reaching past your ear to grab the glass. You’re frozen, your fingers digging into the wooden shelf, unable to turn around and face him, even though you can feel his gaze hot on your skin.

Your plan is shattered, and you have no choice but to come up with an excuse to leave him. You’re combing through scenarios in your mind as you slowly slide down and perch yourself on the countertop, finally facing him. He places the glass on the counter, away from you, and closes the distance between you until the ridges of his clothed abs brush against your knees. His hands are searing against your skin as they rest on your knees and you watch his thumbs trace an obscure pattern with a touch that is featherlight. 

“Your uncle interrupted us,” Toji finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of hopefulness despite his attempt to maintain a neutral expression. His gaze, so harsh and sharp, is alluring in its own way, tempting you to relax the steady clench of your thighs.

“It probably wasn’t a good idea anyway,” you chuckle, self-deprecation rising to the surface of your skin and prickling against the pores.

“Why not?”

Maybe because you would be too much for him and scare him away? Maybe the fear of being too demanding in bed, of not being able to stop once he kisses you, lingers in your thoughts, making the idea of having him only once and never again infuriating.

“I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. I’ll get you water and let you sneak away when the fireworks go off because I know you want to…even though you shouldn’t give a fuck about what your family thinks…but I would really like that kiss.”

Analyzing his features, you take in the sincerity reflected in the moss-green of his eyes. It’s a last-ditch effort to make sure something else isn’t hiding there, and you find yourself coming up short.

Slowly, you part your legs for him to stand between. His hands slide up your thighs tantalizingly slow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake before pushing the fabric of your red sundress up to your waist. You try to ignore the way the cool air on your panties does little to quell the heat radiating from them. His hands wrap around your waist and a gasp heaves from your lips when he yanks you to him, your thighs brushing the sides of his thick waist. 

One of the hands on your waist trails up to the side of your neck, gently tilting your head up, so you can look fully at him as his thumb traces the skin of your bottom lip.

“You better make it good,” you challenge, hoping your faux annoyance can mask the anticipation building in your gut.

He sees right through it and simply hums before he leans down to finally seal his lips against yours. He’s a big man, an overwhelming man, and you feel it in his kiss as his lips take every ounce of breath you have in your lungs. He tastes like the pound yellow cake that everyone got to before you could and a hint of beer and it’s the perfect combination that you want more of. 

His hands are under your dress, brushing beneath your thighs for traction and pulling you impossibly closer to the point where you feel your clothed center brush against the zipper of his jeans. You dig your hands into the fabric of his shirt, twisting and silently commanding for him to give you more. You open your mouth to coax him and his tongue is wet and insistent against yours.

You can feel your resolve dissipating in the air, fizzling against the heat that radiates from your body and your self-control is walking on a tightrope, precariously and seconds away from falling. And once it’s gone, you’ll be a woman unhinged.

He yanks you to him again as if its not enough, harder this time with a growl in the back of his throat that makes you gasp into his mouth, then rolls his hips against yours and behind his zipper you feel him hard and bulging and angry and oh—

You pull away with a harsh breath, gasping for air and biting back a moan that gurgles in your throat when his mouth works its way down the skin of your neck. Your skin is sensitive, and it buzzes with the touch of his lips and invokes a fervent need so deep within you that you’re losing awareness of where you are. You’re lightheaded, brain in the fucking stratosphere and you have to lay down, you have to—

He’s guiding you onto your back before you can do it yourself and the cool counter is a balm against the skin of your exposed shoulders and back. He looms over you from his place between your legs, big and muscular and reeking of hunger. 

“Toji,” you try to speak into the air, stifling a whimper at the sight of him stretching out your leg to rest on his shoulder.

One of his large hands caresses the canvas of your calf before you watch his lips kiss your chocolate skin. His rough scar scratches against you in the most delightful way as his mouth kisses up your calf, bends your leg to get closer, and then resumes his touch on the inside of your thigh. His face should be melting with the amount of heat emitting from between your legs, but he must relish in the burn because the second his tongue slides thick and wet against your clothed cunt, you whimper pathetically into the air.

You have just enough common sense to break from the desire to be fucked thoroughly to whisper.

“Toji, we can’t,” you swallow against the dryness in your throat. “Someone could see.”

You can feel the impatience on his body in waves but he has to listen to you. If your family were to walk in here right now to see their niece or cousin being eaten out like a gourmet meal, the Earth would swallow you whole.

“Shit,” he hisses, pulling you into his arms and carrying you out of the kitchen. You don’t care enough to tell him where to go; you’re too hot, too wet in your panties, and your need is twisting at the base of your spine in the most irritating way, begging to be soothed. 

You hear the beginnings of fireworks being popped off in the backyard and your family is loud, thankfully so loud as Toji locks the door to the bathroom and drops you unceremoniously onto the counter. Though the metal of the faucet digs into the small of your back and you fall into the mirror as you clamber to get yourself in order, you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s on you again, all teeth and lips and sinful tongue in your mouth with equally sinful hands digging impatiently into the sides of your panties.

“Take them off,” you demand, practically whining and in less than a second you can only get one leg out before he’s sinking to his knees, eyes wild and shoulders heaving with untamed breaths. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet. So damn pretty,” he whispers in reverence, throwing your legs over his shoulders, and the compliment makes your cunt throb in anticipation.

You can’t be sure if he’s talking to you or himself. Before you can breathe to calm yourself, it’s catching in your throat, hitching against a moan as his tongue licks a long wet stripe up the slit of your dripping cunt. His tongue parts your folds as if it’s the sea, savoring your essence and then sucking your clit into his mouth like it’s the cherry on top and you love it, whine at the feel, eyes crossing and rolling into the back of your head at the exquisite feeling.

He pulls away for a moment, taking a deep breath as if to regain control, and kisses the inside of your thigh before sliding two fingers up your dripping center, collecting your slick before beginning to rub circles on your clit. He’s mesmerized, and you take a moment to marvel at just how little of his green eyes are visible to you, his pupils are dilated with hunger and focused on the way your cunt moves with his fingers.

“Your bitch of an ex ever eat you out?”

You really don’t want to think about him right now, and you also don’t like the thought of someone feeling like they need to prove themselves to you.

But there’s a big man between your thighs who wants to unwrap you like candy. So you shrug, panting softly as you speak, “Every now and then.”

Toji scoffs, eyes seeming to darken like a forest at night.

“Every now and then,” he parrots, voice incredulous as if he’s heard the most insane thing ever, like he can’t believe it.

He increases the pressure on your clit harshly, causing you to buck against him, yelping in satisfied shock when he flicks your sensitive bud hard with his tongue.

“I’ll make you feel good, princess. Don’t you worry.” 

The nickname doesn’t have the effect as before. No, this time you moan in response, your guts churning with satisfaction at the prospect of being worshiped.

Slowly the two fingers on your clit slide into you, testing the waters, gauging if you’re okay, and your jaw slackens at the feel of the stretch. Fingering is an art, an act that requires patience and skill. You have to know the right pace, when to curl, how to know a woman’s body to determine what she wants. It’s glorious when it’s done right. 

And god, does Toji do it right.

He’s thorough and fluid in his strokes, using the tempo of your moans to curl at just the right time and sucking and licking your clit like he’s ravenous and your head is falling back into the space between your shoulder blades, eyes wide with disbelief as you stare at the ceiling. 

The fireworks are consistent outside, popping off every second and it’s loud enough that you have the courage to voice how Toji is making you feel. 

“Every now and then,” he hisses again to himself, angry and curling his fingers a little harder. You jerk against him, whimpering like a fool when you feel his tongue flick your clit harder as a reward. “He’s so fucking stupid. You taste so good, it’s unbelievable.”

He’s curling more now, brushing against that spongy wall that zings heat to your belly. Your insides churn, a molten heat popping to splatter against the base of your spine, pleasure coaxing you to reach that precipice that will let you fall apart. 

Vaguely you hear him whispering words into the skin of your thighs that you can’t decipher, the thrumming in your ears too loud to hear anything else beyond the fireworks outside, your escalating moans, and the obscene sounds of him slurping you up. The muscles in your thighs begin to tighten, your fingers are sweaty as they slide against the cool marble of the bathroom counter, and you dig your wedges into the muscles of his back, white panties dangling off one ankle. He’s so good, so thorough and your breath is hitching, choking on a moan.

“There you go princess, cum all over my fingers. Get me nice and messy.”

His deep words are accompanied by a sharp bend of his fingers and you’re cumming with a shout, rejoicing in the hot pleasure that puddles along your bones. It’s abrupt and overwhelming, pulling a sharp current down your body that makes your back arch until it bumps into the sink behind you. He’s groaning from his place between your legs, still pumping his fingers and licking your clit to collect as much of your slick as he can.

By the time you look down at him, you’re still catching your breath, your thighs tremble from the sudden chill injected into your muscles. You catch Toji just in time to watch him begin to slip his two dripping fingers into his mouth, but you snatch his wrist, riding off the high of your orgasm to slip his digits into your mouth instead. Thin rings of green widen in surprise and you savor the way his cheeks darken as you swirl your tongue around his digits.

“You’re unreal,” he gulps when you pop his fingers out of your mouth.

You shrug, not willing to show him just how powerful you feel, and wrap your legs around his waist, panties still caught on the buckle of one of your wedges. 

“I’m letting you be nice to me, remember? So what’s next?”

With a harsh pull, he stumbles closer to you, his hands slamming against the marble counter on either side of your waist. His breath hitches as you hastily undo his belt, eyes widening as he takes in the way you leer up at him. 

“You got me a drink, defended my honor from my bitchy aunt, asked me about my family, ate my pussy…you wanna fuck me now?”

“I—” he starts, caught off guard by your forwardness.

“You want to bend me over this counter, make me look in the mirror while I take your cock? Smack my ass and make me beg for you to fill me up?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Toji chokes on a nervous laugh, hissing when your fingers graze the sensitive skin above his belt. 

“Is that a problem?”

The hair of his happy trail is faint and dark just like the hair on his head, and your touch makes his stomach bunch in sensation. He shakes his head in response and you want to laugh so bad at the sight of him struggling to swallow. You haven’t done anything to the man, but he’s sensitive to your touch, and that makes the blood in your veins sing.

“If you’re letting me have you, you can have it however you want.”

Arousal hums to life between your legs, and you can’t help but be turned on at how much he’s giving you. You want him now and while the prospect of being fucked over the counter was what you had hoped, if your family comes in and hears you taking it like a champ, you’ll never show your face again.

So when the door to your truck’s backseat closes, you’re climbing back on his lap, relaxing further into him with the knowledge that you can be as noisy as you want. Your uncle has a seven-month supply of fireworks and land in the middle of nowhere, Hennessey, and classics booming from his sound system… it’s going to be loud for a very long time. 

You’re running on your own current of desire at this point, pawing at his shirt so he can finally yank it off his shoulders and you’re drooling. He’s glorious and you don’t hesitate to rub your hands down firm pectorals, between the abs on his torso, and along the musculature of his Adonis belt. He’s cut like a marble statue, something that takes a painstaking process to hammer and smooth over until the result is almost—

“Let me take you out,” he suddenly suggests, voice gravelly with want but insistent.

Huh?

You’re immediately puzzled, eyebrows dipping into a furrow as you try to decipher his words. His hair is wild, black strands splintering and bushy but still giving you a gateway to his eyes and you see that he’s completely serious.

“On…a date?” A lift of his thin eyebrow in reply and the reality of him actually showing interest flags dangerously against your desire to ride him into oblivion. “Just the dopamine talking, I’m sure,” you say, hoping to dismiss the idea. You hadn’t expected him to actually…want to take you out. You can’t think about that right now because your head is too thick with hunger to try and have a conversation.

He hums, low and dangerous, a hand brushing the skin above your clit and you’re reminded of just how wet you still are from his sloppy tongue minutes before. 

“You’re the only one here that’s cum, princess. I’m being serious.”

“It’ll pass,” you reply immediately, licking into his mouth to shut him up.

Thankfully he doesn’t try to interject because you don’t have time to talk right now—you don’t want to. You don’t know Toji, not well enough. While tonight has been one of the most relaxed evenings you’ve spent with a man in a long time, you’re unsure if he genuinely wants you or if he’s merely carried away by the thrill of being with a woman.

He tried to come onto you the minute he laid eyes on you, tried to kiss you after a few hours, and pocketed your panties even though you pretended to be oblivious. You just don’t know. If you had a pretty girl in your lap, you would probably say the same things. Ask her on a date, make her feel wanted so she’s more giving when you slide her panties off.

It’ll pass.

And that’s what you tell yourself when you feel his large hands palm your ass beneath your sundress. You are teeth against him, nipping his tongue, biting the skin of his jaw, the meat of his neck, and the sharp groan that you pull from him in response makes you drip like a bitch in heat against his jeans.

“Take off your pants,” you whisper to him sharply, turning around and leaning over the center console to fish a condom from inside. You had discovered them months ago, and they should have been more than enough for you to dump your ex then.

“Shit,” you hear Toji hiss from behind you before your ass stings from his slap against it. You yelp, jumping from the contact and you hope he can see your cunt pulse from between your thighs in response. “Hurry up, baby.” 

When you face him again, you freeze, eyes widening at the sight of his cock. As you take him in, he snatches the condom from your hand and unfurls it on his cock.

Surprisingly trimmed with dark hair, he’s thick—not enough to be painful—but enough to enjoy the stretch so you can ride him until he flatlines and enjoy the ache in your thighs in the morning. It’s perfect; pale with a red tip that leaks into the tip of the condom, a vein along the side that you can’t lick without tasting latex. It’s a shame.  

He throws you that devilish smirk, eyes twinkling in pride before he taps his thigh and beckons you like the best ride at the carnival.

“Hop on, princess.”

Your fingers grip the hair at his nape when you feel him inside of you. It’s a delicious stretch that you have to breathe through, and the feel of his hands affectionately stroking your back catches you off guard. You don’t hate it; in fact, you want to lean into it, but you don’t want to give him any ammunition for something you aren’t sure about. So you slide down to the hilt and listen to Toji curse sharply through the sudden heat of you before you start a steady rhythm that throws him off.

Within seconds, you increase your pace, riding him with an intensity that makes the air in your throat catch and drag along the sides. He’s got a satisfying curve to him that grazes those magical spots within you to make the grip on his nape tighten like a vice. Your head is foggy with an overpowering mist that makes your mouth loose and your inhibitions low.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, pulling you out of the delirium you were basking in to focus on him. His jaw is relaxed, hot air puffing from between an open mouth and onto the skin of your neck, a few strands of his hair stick to his forehead and the sides of his cheeks and there’s a slight furrow to his thin eyebrows as if he’s trying to concentrate.

You’re giddy with desire. “Let me guess,” you tease, lips brushing against his. “Am I tight?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, eyelids hooded and upper cheeks darkening with a blush that spreads down his neck.

“Am I nice and hot?”

“Yes, fuck yes, baby.” 

It’s meant to tease, because every man that has ever slid inside of you in the past says the same shit, but to hear it from him brings a strange sense of satisfaction that you find yourself slanting your lips against his. He still tastes like the yellow cake that you never got, but the flavor is intertwined with the remnants of your essence that still lingers on his tongue that dances with yours. 

You plant your knees harder into the seat on each side of him, use your muscles to bear down and give you more control, and then you roll your hips, guiding him in and out in a tantalizing dance that elicits groans from him and makes him roll his head back against the headrest.

“Let me take you out,” he gasps into the air and you refuse to answer him—you can’t. It’s harder now to believe his sincerity because he’s delirious with lust. “Answer me.”

You growl softly and yank your hands from his hair to push down the straps of your sundress. You’re not wearing a bra, and he cusses like he just stubbed his toe as he watches your breasts spill free.

“Stop talking,” you whisper and yank his head forward, beckoning him to you and he catches on quickly, licking and sucking a nipple before pulling it into his mouth. The sensation makes you shudder, a gentle pleasure that your cunt appreciates and you pick up your pace on him again. “Stop asking me. Just let me fuck you.”

He bites down in retaliation to pull a squeak from you and licks over the sting in a half-assed apology. When you look down, his gaze is illuminated by the streetlights, a harsh glare that showcases his annoyance with your deflection, but his eyes droop when you squeeze around him in response.

You’re stuffed full of him, stretching along the sides, punching the air out of your throat with each bounce on his cock and your legs begin to burn with the build-up of exertion. Your nipples are wet and sensitive against his taste buds as he teases each peak into his hot mouth and it helps to mix that pot of pleasure in your stomach to life again. 

You can feel it, like a crescendo of waves crashing against a dock, but the waves are coming in quicker and more turbulent with every moan and cry that falls from your lips. You push him off of your chest, dig your fingers into his shoulders for more leverage so you can ride his cock like you have nothing left to lose.

His chest is blooming red, covered in a light sheen of sweat that dips between his pectorals and pools in his collarbones. Your bun of braids came loose when he was eating you out in the bathroom, and now some are heavy on your skin with sweat and plaster over your shoulders and between your sternum and you’re hot and sweaty and trying so hard to reign it in. 

He doesn’t buck up into you and you’re unsure if it’s due to laziness or the fact that he simply wants to watch you while he brings himself closer to climax. You hope it’s the latter. 

“Do you like this?” you pant into his mouth and nip his bottom lip. “You can tell me, you know. Be a good boy and tell me just how I’m making you feel.”

He groans and lands another smack to your ass that makes you gasp and arch further into him. It's the right amount of pain that makes your pussy pulse in response, the right amount of manhandling that can take you higher in a second.

“You’re a natural, princess. You ever ride him like this?”

You shake your head and he smacks your ass again, harder this time and digs his fingertips into the flesh to let the sting linger. It's so good, and you can't help the whine that you puff against his lips as he smirks up at you with a proud disposition.

“He couldn’t handle it. Probably why he cheated wasn’t it? You were too much for him. You know how you like it and he couldn’t deliver.” 

You don’t answer him, but he’s right. He’s so right. He couldn’t stand it when you took control, hated when you asked him to do something that didn’t result in him being dominant, hated when he couldn’t even eat pussy without you having to ask. 

The feel of his fingers on your clit makes you jump and you poke your fingers into his nape again and pick up your pace, panting and moaning like you’re running a marathon as the pleasure rocks inside of you like a pendulum. 

“Oh god. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you whisper, stomach burning.

You’re fluttering around him—pulsing and clenching and gushing over the thickest cock you’ve ever had and it’s glorious, you’re in fucking heaven.

The streetlight shines faintly into your truck, painting half of Toji’s face. He’s beautiful; that same annoying flicker of desire that captivated you when his green eyes met yours hours ago glimmers thin and dilated.

There’s a ruggedness to him that exudes masculinity, but glimpses into the depths of his eyes reveal a tender vulnerability that makes you wonder how soft he could be if he allowed you to get close enough.

The thought makes your cunt tighten around him, your thighs tense and fill with lactic acid and his fingers on your clit are unceasing, rubbing in a precise rhythm that makes you hiccup on a moan of incredulity. The hand not occupied with your clit is reclined across the headrest behind him and it makes him look unbearably sexy.

“I’ve never had a woman ride me like this,” he whispers, and you smile into his mouth, your kiss messy as you swallow down his compliment. He yanks you away and breathes that same insufferable ask against your lips.

“Let me take you out.” He rubs your clit faster, using the way you tighten around him as a guide to your pleasure, and his hand leaves the headrest to dig into the meat of your ass. “One chance. One dinner. I’ll give you what you deserve, whatever you want, princess. I promise just—”

“Stop it,” you whine and fight the burning sensation in your eyes. You’re so close, so fucking close and the storm inside of you is out of control but he won’t stop fucking talking. Won’t stop being so damn nice even though his cock is rearranging your guts in the nastiest way. You grip his hair and pull him closer to you so there’s no space between you to breathe. “Stop talking. Stop asking. Make yourself useful and make me cum.”

Thankfully he does. He scowls up at you behind the curtain of his hair but pinches your clit and you squeal, rolling your hips, riding him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. The windows have already fogged up, the truck rocks with your movements, and you are consumed with a blissful incoherence that forces you to surrender and let your walls crumble.

Your thighs burn, your dress clings to your sweaty body, and the stimulation on your clit becomes almost unbearable as you whine with the need to cum. He hisses loudly into the car, bares his teeth for a second, and then his eyes roll before he’s slack-jawed and panting into stuffy air, a current of groans beneath.

“That’s it, Toji,” you gasp, voice strained as you teeter on the brink of an orgasm that threatens to overwhelm you. “Be nice to me just like you said and give me everything like the good boy you are.”

The hand not on your clit slips against the sweat on your hips, and you lick up the side of his neck, savoring the salt taste of his perspiration on his smooth skin, just in time to hear him. It’s faint and low, practically a whisper but he chants--

‘Fuck yes, fuck yes. So fucking good. Ride me, sweetheart.’

It’s tilted in a whine, pathetically desperate, but the sound of him does the trick because the flick of his fingers on your clit makes the biggest wave of pleasure crash over you.

You don’t get the chance to tell him you’re cumming, you simply yank his head back from the sudden force, tilt your head up to the ceiling and cum with an exhausted and wrung out ‘fuck!’ that you’re sure your uncle’s neighbors will hear a mile down the road. You’re dumbfounded with pleasure, dizzy with it and your belly is hot and simmering as you gasp and whimper at just how good it feels. 

He’s laying you back on the seat before you can catch your breath. You’re still coming down, still moaning to catch up but his large hands are under your knees and bending them towards your chest to chase his own orgasm. The edge of the seat digs into the crevice of your spine, and your hand flies out to smack against the back of the driver’s seat so you don’t fall but it slips with sweat, is hard to hold onto and you can hardly focus with everything that’s going on. 

His mouth is on you, stealing your breath that you still can’t control, swallowing your moans as he fucks you with a ferocity that pulls your soul from your body. He pulls away with a deep moan and stares down at you with a look that makes you anxious—like he wants to see you again, like he wants to come to another cookout with your rowdy family if it means he can bother you some more—like he really likes you. 

You know he’s going to try and say something that you may not be able to talk yourself out of, so you take the intense furrow in his eyebrows and the stuttering of his hips as a cue.

“You gonna cum?” you purr up at him, moaning weakly from the harsh thrusts that stroke you into overstimulation.

“Yes,” he answers without fail, eyes locked on yours. “Yes, I’m gonna cum. Fuck—”

Reaching up, you cup his cheek, unsure why but feeling an inexplicable need, and the words that fall from your lips help him across the finish line. 

“Cum inside me, Toji. Take what you want and fill me up.”

His eyes widen before they roll closed and he’s slamming against you three times hard and rough before the deepest moan you’ve ever heard slips past his lips. He pants heavily stuttering tiny thrusts into you as he comes down, the tips of his hair drip a few drops of sweat onto your neck before he lowers himself to rest on top of you. He’s too big for the seat and his knee digs into the floor of the truck to maintain his balance. His hot breath washes over your neck, slowly calming down, and in your daze, you realize that you’re holding onto his shoulders. 

The hard lines of Toji that you noted when you first saw him now feel gentle against you.

He rumbles your name into your neck and you’re cutting him off before the dopamine can speak for him. 

“We should get back inside before someone finally notices that we’ve been gone.” He abruptly lifts to look down at you, annoyance etched on his devastatingly handsome face. He wants to argue, you can taste it, but your fear wins. “My bitchy aunt has been at me all night, the last thing I need is her snooping.”

He’s quiet still, the edge of his lips curling into a dissatisfied frown. It stretches his scar in a way that takes away from the beauty of his face. Makes him look more alien and you have to pull your gaze from him. But he doesn’t argue like you think he would. He doesn’t speak or try to talk back or voice how annoyed he is.

He slowly pulls out of you and you immediately miss the feeling, ties off the condom, and pulls you up tenderly from the seat. Your skin is sticky and the truck reeks of sex. The high has worn off and all that remains is the overwhelming unease that rises like bile in the back of your throat. 

When you both are finally dressed and creeping out of the backseat, the cool air is a welcome feel to your overheated skin. It washes away your trepidation, if only for a moment. Toji looms over you, tall like a bear that you desperately want to sink your embrace back into, but he still doesn’t speak, and the crease of annoyance between his brows doesn’t leave. He should hold onto it. It will help him get over you. 

“Do you mind getting my purse from inside the house? I don’t want to go back inside just yet and I need to check my phone.”

Impatience emanates from his every pore, yet you can sense his anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. But he still doesn’t fight and makes his way back inside without a word.

You lied.

Your purse is in the front seat of your car—you threw it up there when you both snuck into the vehicle in the first place, but his attention was too busy trying to feel you up than pay attention to the satchel hanging off your shoulder. 

Once you see the front door close, you get into the front seat, start your car, and drive away without a second thought. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly as the temptation to turn back tugs at you. 

It may not be right to leave without saying goodbye, and lying to him has left a bitter taste in your mouth. Your family is too occupied with the fireworks and each other’s company to really notice your absence anyway, and you’re sure they’ll have no problem trying to distract Toji when he realizes that you’re gone. 

The grip on the wheel doesn’t lessen, but you roll down the windows and let the evening July air wash away some of the sex that still lingers on the seats.

***

“So you did fuck him,” your cousin snickers over the speaker of your phone a week later. 

It’s a Saturday night and you’re knee-deep in your wash day routine. It took you all day to take out your braids and the clear shower cap on your head traps the deep conditioner inside. You wipe away some of the excess near your ear.

You have Chinese waiting to be delivered, and you’re ready to finish your routine so you can go to bed. Your eyes are glued to your television playing some sort of nature documentary but your attention is elsewhere, specifically on trying to worm your way out of this conversation with your cousin. She’s called you every single day since the 4th and she’s done nothing but make you feel guilty about your abrupt departure. 

As you expected, your family didn’t really notice your absence. But when Toji asked your cousin for your purse and then realized you had lied, he sulked in a lawn chair for the rest of the night before Shiu drove him home.

“Yes, I fucked him. So what?”

“Soooo do something about it. Fuck him again? He lives in the same city as you and is here indefinitely. Make a move—”

“It was a nice night, but he was already trying to flirt with me as soon as he saw me and I still entertained him and fucked him and—I shouldn’t have done that…I should have waited, maybe tested the waters more. He only tried to ask me out because he was horny as hell.”

She’s quiet on the other line, and you look up at the ceiling in exasperation because you can feel her annoying logic rev up before she fires away.

“So you’re just scared? Your ex cheated on you because he was a spineless pissy boy who slithered away because you didn’t take his shit. That’s not a reflection of you, at all. I know you like to have it all figured out before you make a decision, but not everything works out that way. Toji saw a fine ass black woman who talks her shit and he made a move. He’s a nice guy...a little rough around the edges, but truly…a nice guy. Someone for you.”

James Attenborough elegantly voices something about the cuttlefish on the screen while you try to contemplate what to say. She’s right. You hate that she’s right. It’s why you two are so close but still you retort in the best way you know how.

“Girl, fuck you.”

Her raucous laugh vibrates over the speaker in delight and you snort and roll your eyes when the doorbell cuts you off. The prospect of your Chinese food makes your mouth water and you’re rushing to the door.

Only it’s not your Chinese food at the doorstep, it’s Toji Fushiguro. Toji Fushiguro who is protected from the rain under the overhang of your apartment door with one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other clutching a container. The annoyed look that you last saw on his face is gone, replaced by a neutral and bored look that seems natural for him, even though his eyes don’t convey that specific emotion. Those green eyes are reminiscent of your uncle’s well-maintained lawn as they look down at you with a nervous glint. 

“Toji,” you breathe in disbelief. “How did you get my address…”

Your cousin squawks on the other line and swallows a giggle. “I’m gonna go—”

“Your cousin finally gave it to me.,” he replies simply and gestures down to the phone in your tight grip. “I’ve been trying to get it since you fucking left.”

“Damn, thanks?!” she barks at him. “Lemme get out of here, I’m getting another call anyway. Bye!”

You’re going to kill her. Slowly. Painfully and maybe in front of Shiu to get a few tears out of him if you’re feeling particularly evil. 

You know she’s right about Toji, but you can’t do this. You shouldn’t have fucked him in the first place and you should have thought of a backup plan on the off chance that your cousin was going to be annoying and nosy as hell.

You ignore his intense and heavy gaze, shifting in discomfort, scratch the back of your neck, and blanch in horror when your fingers brush the edge of your shower cap. You’re wearing a large t-shirt, your feet are bare and your head is covered in a shower cap with deep conditioner leaking from the sides; a stark contrast from the calm and collected woman who snapped at him all day a week ago. Mortification washes over you in a heavy wave, drowning your mantra of not giving a fuck about a man’s opinion, and you step back to grab the door.

“Listen…I’m waiting for food and then I have to get ready for work in the morning. So you need—”

“You have time to spare then,” he cuts off and walks past you. You round on him, indignant in your gaze.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?! Get out, Toji!”

“You want me to leave? Hmm?” he asks, goading you like you don’t know if you’re sure.

You’re not sure, but—“Yes, goddammit! I shouldn’t have left but I don’t do this sort of thing! The moment you met me, you only wanted to get in my pants. And that makes you trying to ask me out while your cock is inside of me, a lot harder to believe!”

He firmly places the container in his hands on your kitchen counter, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and gives you a look that either makes you want to melt into him or slap it off his face.

“Listen—”

You’re on the defensive now, backed into a corner and ready to pull every card you have to just make him go away. “You here for a quick fuck then? Because you got me to let my guard down and because we had such a steamy time in the backseat of my truck, you thought, what? You could just show up and bend me over my couch?”

That flicker of irritation is back on his face and it crinkles the edges of his eyes, makes him look nasty and hostile.

“Fuck, will you stop—”

“Wanna have a little ‘situationship’ while you get acquainted with your new life here? Have me get nice and comfortable and as soon as I ask for something more, you’re jumping ship. Sounds like a good plan, doesn’t it?”

A sharp growl leaves his throat and he glares.

“Girl—” he starts and immediately stops, eyes wide as saucers at the venomous gaze that you shoot his way. There it is, a hint of a name to make you feel small and insignificant. It reminds you of your parents when you used to talk back and they slid the name to you in a warning to stop talking. You hate it and it stings that you have to hear it from him.

“Get out,” you bark, seething with a rage that brings a sting to your eyes. 

He throws up his hands in frustration, looming like a bear from his place in your kitchen. “Will you just stop it!”

“I said—”

“Oh my fucking god—I like you!” 

His admission catches you off guard, cutting through your anger, and you stare at him in astonishment. His face is red with embarrassment, eyes trained up at the ceiling as if asking the gods to give him patience. He takes a deep breath before meeting your gaze from across the kitchen.

“You don’t do this sort of thing?” he asks, gesturing between the two of you. You can’t find the words to respond, still too shocked, so you simply nod. 

“What sort of thing is that? Flirting with you because you looked like the sexiest little thing in that backyard and I wanted your attention?” He’s annoyed, deep voice razor sharp as he speaks, but you don’t miss the step he takes closer to you.

“Me trying to make you feel better because your family is judgmental? Teaching me about the food you like because I’m not from here?”

He’s closer now and the air is thin again just like that night a week ago.

“Helping me win that little card game?” It’s spades, but you’re too lightheaded with how close he is to correct him. “Telling me about your family? What sort of thing is that? Hmm? Tell me.” 

You don’t have a retort. You’re too stunned to speak even though you refuse to let the annoyed expression on your face vanish. You want to hold onto what little shreds of defiance you have left.

“You aren’t mean. You don’t tolerate bullshit, you don’t fuck around, and you put people in their place. You refuse to settle for less, and I already told you that’s what I like in a woman…And I like you.”

What do you even say? You never expected to see him again, and your mind is muddled as if you’re submerged in water. Your heart feels too big in your chest, your body too hot and sweaty and you’re nervous. He’s angry with his confession, almost annoyed and you’re beginning to realize that it is an emotion that’s second nature to him even if it’s not as intense as you think it is. 

“Is that right?” you can’t help but test him, lifting a brow. You have to crane your neck just a little to look up at him.

He scoffs, the crease in his eyebrows smooths out and the scar on his lips twitches. 

“Yea, that's fucking right. So…” he takes one more step closer and his body is brushing against yours. He smells mildly of toothpaste and bergamot from another brand of cheap cologne and the combination makes you weak in the knees. “Let me take you out.”

It’s the same demand that you’ve heard so many times now, but this time, it feels more serious, more meaningful with a hint of desperation. In the kitchen light, you can see just how silky his raven locks are and you grip your phone and the fabric of your t-shirt to resist the urge to run your hands through them. 

“I’m listening,” you jest with a practiced air.

That wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, scar adding a devilish flair to his features, and your stomach burns with the realization that he’s too cocky for his own good, and you’ve unfortunately grown to like it. 

“Shiu has tickets for something here called…football? He’s taking your cousin and has two extra tickets. Come with me and show me how to win.”

You can’t help the snort that leaves your mouth and your stomach flips at the genuine confusion on his face. “We don’t participate in the game. We watch it. But it’s fun.”

“All the more reason for you to come with me.”

“I…”

It’s a compelling argument, all of it is. And you want to, you really want to give this a shot and just be vulnerable for once. Because Toji seems like the kind of man who would let you be just who you are and would never make you feel lesser than about it. 

The feel of his large hands cupping your cheeks pulls you out of your thoughts, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are mesmerizing, like the color of pine trees right before the sun sets and you feel yourself weakening completely.

“One date, princess.”

The deep timbre of his voice does little to help you and it’s worse because it’s just how he fucking talks. You’re not a royal, and you don’t have land, lots of money, or power, but you can tolerate ‘princess’ if it’s coming from his mouth. 

Just one date. You deserve it. You’ve earned the reward.

You wave away his hands from your face just so you can breathe a little easier. He chuckles but gives you your space, and makes his way to the door that you usher him towards. 

“Fine. Make sure you bring cash because it’s easier at the concession stands. I want a pretzel…and a hot dog.”

He snickers as he pulls his hood over his head, obscuring most of his face except for the ethereal glow of his eyes. His teeth shine from his bright smile and you roll your eyes in response before watching him open your door. 

“Toji?” you call, your voice softer…apprehensive.

He turns around to watch you shuffle to him, your feet and legs cold against the chill from the open door. You hand him your phone wordlessly and he takes the hint to insert his number. When he’s finished, you open your mouth to speak, lips shaping words that won’t come out—words you want to say. But you can’t. Not yet. Maybe one day.

For now, you throw him an annoyed eyebrow lift and grumble. “Parking is a real bitch, so pick me up early.”

You avert your gaze, frustrated at yourself for sounding so mean as usual. Because that’s just who you are. The bitter, mean—

A finger beneath your chin lifts your gaze to him and he kisses you full on the mouth, slow and reassuring, minty breath sliding into your mouth when he nips your bottom lip. The self-deprecating voice in your head finally quiets, smothered by a pillow held down by his scarred hands.

When he pulls away, that stupid smirk is on his face, but it’s not as teasing, and your heart does something weird in your chest that makes you swallow hard.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies finally to your demand.

You watch his eyes take in your form from head to toe before he kisses you quickly once more and ducks into the rain.

When you finally get your Chinese and place it on the counter to dig in, your eyes land on the container that was in Toji’s hands from earlier. 

You peek inside, and your heart does that weird thing again in your chest when you see a heaping slice of the yellow cake that you never got to have a week ago.

Thanks for reading! You can find the sequel here!

#Toji Fushiguro #Toji Fushiguro x Reader #Toji Fushiguro x Black Reader #Toji Fushiguro x black fem reader #Toji x you #Toji Fushiguro x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #black fem reader #black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #Maneater #mysteria157 #anime x black reader #Toji Fushiguro fanfic #jjk fanfic #Toji Fushiguro smut #Toji Fushiguro fluff #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #Toji fanfic #toji smut #toji x reader #toji jjk #jujutsu toji #soft Toji #jjk fic #jjk au

[ayyy-pee]

Discord 18+ - Twitter 𝘽𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙆𝙄𝙉𝙂: 𝙄𝙏'𝙎 𝘼 𝙎𝘾𝘼𝙉𝘿𝘼𝙇!!

In celebration of reaching 3,000 followers on Tumblr, it seems ayyypee has decided to host her very first collab!!! The theme is Celebrity Scandal!

What are your favorite celebrity anime men, women or you (the reader) up to these days? New relationships? Maybe a nasty breakup or divorce. Cheating? Leaks, Murder, Cover ups?! There's so much to report on and so little time. But rest assured, The Jujutsu Journal will find out. Someone is always watching.

Status: OPEN

𝙍𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨

✩˚｡⋆ This is an 18+ collab! Minors dni

✩˚｡⋆ All characters portrayed must be 18+ (No aging up of minor characters pls, but if there is a canon timeskip, that's fine. Just write them as their adult selves.)

✩˚｡⋆ It does not have to be only an x Reader pairing!

✩˚｡⋆ Open to ANY fandom (Even though it says Jujutsu Journal lol)

✩˚｡⋆ You can join with as many fandoms and as many characters as you wish

✩˚｡⋆ Both NSFW and SFW works are allowed!

✩˚｡⋆ If you use any topics that need a warning, please use warnings and tag appropriately!

✩˚｡⋆ That being said, dark content is fine as long as it is not any of the following: Non-con, r*pe, beastiality, incest/stepcest, pedophilia

✩˚｡⋆ No particular format or word length required. And you can even do art! Just let me know what you’ll be doing!

𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙏𝙊 𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍

✩˚｡⋆ To join, please send me an ask, or you can dm me! Also I'm nosy so let me know what your idea(s) are! Like Stalker!Paparazzi Sukuna x Reader LMAO)

✩˚｡⋆ The deadline for submission for the collab is June 30th

✩˚｡⋆ I would also REALLY appreciate it if people reblogged this post so that it's boosted!

✩˚｡⋆ Please tag me in your works and use the tag: #JujutsuJournal after you're done. I'll add it to my Masterlist and reblog it on my account! I know the tagging system is bonkers right now though, so if tagging doesn't work, you can just send me an ask.

✩˚｡⋆ If you have any other questions, just let me know!

𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

𝙂𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙥 𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙪𝙢𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙍𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝘿𝙪𝙩𝙮:

JUJUTSU KAISEN

@ayyy-pee - model!shokoieiri x model!ioriutahime x videographer!reader

@tojiscumdumpster - stalker!model!naoya x journalist!blackreader

@bungalowbear - stuntman!toji x actress!reader

@lost-immortality - DELICIOUS FANART (Characters updated later)

@lemonlover1110 - toji x reader, sukuna x reader

@xo2dee - actress!yuki x actress!reader

@yasu-1234 - tailor!higuruma x movie star!reader

@fizee: ✩ Non Disclosure Agreement - ceo!naoya x femdom!reader

@mysteria157 - celebrity chef!reader x food critic!nanami

@toasted-ry3bread - nanami x actress!reader

@pattycakes5516 - probasketballplayer!suguru x criticalsportsanalyst!reader

@kentocalls - manager!geto x idol!reader, farmer!satoru gojo x actress!reader

@violetsaffron5 - nepo-babystalker!gojo x reader

@hyperfixationsporfavor - actor!sugurugeto x director!reader

@brujawrites - nepobaby!gojo x interviewpersonality!reader

@storiesoflilies ✩ cherry cola, cigarette kisses - guitarist!toji x singer!reader

©ayyypee, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, reupload or modify my work to other accounts and platforms. please ask before translating any of my works!

Banner Credit: @benkeibear!

#JujutsuJournal #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk x reader #jjk x you #anime smut #fanfic collab #anime x reader #naoya x black reader #naoya zenin x black reader #jjk x black reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #yuki x reader #yuki tsukumo x reader #sukuna x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #nanami kento x reader #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #shoko x reader #shoko ieiri x reader #utahime x reader

[fizee]

Non Disclosure Agreement 📃🖋️

Naoya x Reader | 3.3k | 18+ only!

Includes: female!reader, femdom!reader, man ass getting ate, submissive!naoya (mostly).

Content Warnings: consensual sexual asphyxiation, blatant cheating, prostitution, casual sexism.

Part of the Jujutsu Journal collab hosted by @ayyy-pee, thank you so much for including me! A big thank you to @mysteria157 for beta'ing extensively for me, as well as a couple of my close friends, and a big happy birthday to (you know who you are)

Naoya hates the rain.

Even in the summer months it’s less refreshing to him and more of a nuisance- sticky, damp, and everywhere. It pitters and soaks into his clothes and he would have brought an umbrella- if this was a place where anyone cared about getting rained on.

It's not.

The hotel is dingy and not worthy of the sad little three star review rating it managed to gain. The pavement he steps over is cracked, and the entrance he steps through is worn. Whatever. It suits his needs, even if it makes his clothes stink. He’d never get recognized in this part of town.

He gives the front desk clerk a cursory glance- feeling snide at the state of his wrinkled shirt and miserably nonchalant disposition. Naoya doesn’t have to check in, nobody does here. But he drops cash on the desk and keeps walking, not caring if it’s too much or too little.

You had already texted him the room number. He wonders if a place like this even has an elevator.

He turns down the hall and is only mildly surprised to find that there is, indeed, an elevator, despite this place only having three stories. It’s got trace amounts of rust. It squeals when the doors slide open.

He glances at his watch, tapping the screen to pull up your text. 36. He scoffs to himself. You and your third floors. Something about feeling unsafe on the first floor, which is stupid. He’s never understood that about you.

He finds the room quickly, ignoring the fact that as he gets closer, his collar feels tighter. It’s been too long since he’s seen you. He swears he can smell your perfume over all the mildew in the disgusting sixty year old hallway carpet. The perfume was his choice, of course. A birthday gift. You had almost refused it, saying that you don’t take gifts from clients and blah blah blah. He’s not one to look a horse in the mouth, so he had made you suck his cock to earn it. It does smell good on you.

He knocks quickly, six short thuds on the door. He doesn’t bother to try the handle, he knows it’s locked. He gives a quick glance at the hallway around him when he hears the door unlock, and watches the handle turn.

“Mr. Zenin.” You greet him with a graceful smile. He rolls his eyes and walks past you into the room, not wanting to linger in the hallway.

“You’re late,” you accuse sweetly. “A half hour late, to be precise.”

“Put it on my tab.” He grumbles. You just smile, approaching him and helping him out of his coat just how he likes, smoothing your hands out over his back as you do. You hook the coat over the crooked little hanger that juts out of the wall, looking stupidly bespoke on outdated wallpaper.

He takes a seat unceremoniously in the faded pink chair sitting opposite the bed.

“This place is a dump.” He says. He eyes your clothes- pink and flowy, opaque but not thick enough to hide your shape. It flows over you like water, and his collar feels tighter. You smile gently and walk over to press your palms into his shoulders from behind.

“Dumps keep secrets.” You murmur. His hair smells good. You press your face to it and kiss him gently.

“Far cry from Aman,” He complains, reminding you of the hotel you had met each other in, all the way across the world.

“God, I haven’t thought of that place in years,” You run your fingers in the dips of his collarbones, laughing gently, “You were the only sober one at that party, stuck out like a sore thumb.”

“And you were the only whore not hanging off a man’s neck.”

“What can I say?” You undo the top few buttons of his shirt to expose his skin to your warm touch, “I’ve got… refined tastes.”

He hums. His watch dings once but he doesn’t bother to check it. He runs a hand over his jaw, reminiscing of how you had looked in that party room, full of investment cucks and coke addicted businessmen and glittery, shimmering whores. You seemed to almost glow under the dim lights, alone, calling to him with your gaze.

He sighs.

“Long day?” You ask.

“Long month.” He mutters bitterly. “You didn’t return my calls.”

“I was on vacation.” You dig your fingers into his trapezius soothingly, finding the spots that make him melt gooey like butter.

“Since when do whores take vacations?”

“Since filthy rich married men started paying them extra.”

He snorts. He reaches up and grabs your hand, pressing his mouth to your warm fingertips.

“Did you miss me?” You ask playfully, ducking your head to giggle in his ear, “Or did you miss my-“

You’re cut off when he grabs your face and holds you so he can plant a slightly slobbery kiss on your lips. Your glossy red lipstick smears on his mouth. He has his belt unbuckled by the time he releases his hold on you, but you frown for a moment.

“I thought you didn’t drink?” You had definitely tasted the alcohol on his tongue, but drunk he did not seem. Far from it. He’s looking up at you with an icy clarity.

“I don’t.”

“Mhmm. Does Mrs. Zenin know?”

“You’re a cunt,” he says, but there is no real bite behind it. “A stupid cunt. Suck me off.”

“Is that really what you want?” You snake around the chair, putting yourself in his lap. It’s a bit awkward with the bulky, ugly chair, but you manage to press the very core of you where he's most sensitive. Your hands drift up his chest and rest at his neck, and you lean in to whisper against his mouth.

“You’ll have work for that.” You kiss him gently. “Unless, of course, you can ask nicely for once.”

His mouth pulls into a half hearted sneer but his cheeks glow pink. His eyes meet yours and his pupils are wide and dark and calm, two tiny black lakes.

His silence is his answer.

“You really did miss me,” You murmur sweetly, bringing your hands up to press around his neck, thumbs securely pressed on either side of his windpipe. You press hard. His face slowly goes red. His hips jerk in pavlovian response. You can feel the hard length of him against the curve of your ass, begging to be free of his pants.

He gasps finally, Inhaling quickly through his constricted throat. He doesn’t avert his eyes from yours, looking at you desperately while you grind against him and tighten your grip on his neck even more. His hands grab at the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white. He tries to keep his breathing even, but it comes in quick, needy huffs.

“I hope you can be good for me tonight.” You coo. You kiss him. He whines, attempting to chase your mouth when you pull away, but you keep an iron grip on his neck, preventing him from moving more than an inch.

You give him one more hard press into his lap and you can tell he’s already close, and so soon! His eyes are slightly glazed, drool threatening to drip from his open mouth. You'd bet all the money he’s paying you that he’s already leaking if you reached and touched him.

You release him suddenly, rubbing over his shoulders while he gasps for a full breath. He keeps his palms firmly to the chair, resisting the urge to grab you and hold you to him and ruin the ridiculously expensive pants he’s got on.

You slide off his lap and stand to soak in the view- the red streaks chasing over his neck, the tent in his pants.

“Stand up. Clothes off.” You tell him, dropping your robe to the floor. You don’t strip down like he begins to do, instead leaving the matching slip covering your body.

You hum in approval as he removes his shirt, eating up the lovely shape of his body. He’s always taken care of himself, almost obsessively so. His pants are next to go, and then the non descript black briefs.

He averts his eyes as he stands before you, nude. His erection twitches in the cold air.

“Got some tanning done, did you?” You step in and pet over his taught stomach, grazing low to tease him.

“Malibu.” He says, some of that snide returning, “and you could have come with me if you’d returned my calls.”

“I remember that. Some of your twitter fanboys posted about it. I doubt Mrs. Zenin would have appreciated me coming with you on a family trip.”

“Wasn’t really a family trip.” He grits out as you feather over his hips, his thighs, appreciating what a specimen he is. “The boys stayed with the nanny the whole time. And she just-“ he grunts when you reach lower and touch his balls, avoiding his cock alltogether, “She’s a prize tuna, I’ll give her that. Not like you.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s an extra six hundred if you want me to listen to you badmouth your wife. Get on the bed.”

He looks like he's going to say something, mouth parting and brow furrowing. You peer at him warmly, your pupils as blown as his. He closes his mouth, deciding not to say whatever was knocking around in his head, and climbs onto the bed without fanfare.

You watch him closely, enjoying the view of his nude body splayed out and primed for you to play with. He’s flushed everywhere he’s sensitive- his face, his chest, his cock. Without stimulation you see it already going half soft, so you kneel onto the bed over him and place your palm against his head. He gasps and jerks, grabs your wrist but quickly loosens his grip and just holds you there.

“C’mon,” he pleads. Though he’d cuss and whine if you described it as pleading. He ruts himself against your palm, his teeth dig into his lower lip. It's not enough but it’s also too much. He’s always been sensitive.

“You could ask.” You say, knowing he won’t. You pull away and his fingers twitch with the need to take himself in hand.

“You’re a bitch.” He says. “Evil fucking bitch.”

You laugh. It’s a light and gentle thing. He doesn’t think about how nice it sounds.

“You really know how to talk to a lady, huh?” You press on his shoulder, making him lay back fully.

“I can hardly call you a lady.” He’s got a hungry look in his eyes. He looks good laying there- hair slightly ruffled, cheeks pink. It’s a sight you’ve seen a dozen times but you’ll never grow tired of.

He lays still, waiting. He glowers at you while you make him wait. You come up near his head and sling a leg over his neck.

“Maybe this will shut you up.” You hike up the slip you wear and grin down at him. No, of course you’re not wearing anything underneath it. He doesn’t hesitate to grab your thighs and shove his nose into the neat curls there and lick a hot wet stripe into your core.

You’ve been wet and swollen for a while. It’s nearly conditioned. You feel a slight tingle every time he calls you, wanting to see you. Wanting to fuck you. But now you’re soaked, your cunt wetting his face without shame, arching your back when he finds your clit and sucks on it desperately.

You lock your thighs around his head, cutting off nearly all the airflow he would’ve managed to get before. He likes it. You reach behind you and grip the base of him, feeling him twitch and pulse. He suckles on your clit til you’re keening- and right as you squeeze his cock a little harder and your hips jerk a little more desperately, he shifts and his tongue delves deep into your dripping hole, licking and practically drinking you down. You make a choked little whimper, so close to release.

You grab his hair and hold him beneath you, grinding your cunt into his mouth and nose and eating up every muffled noise he makes. His tongue works hungrily, desperate to please you, delving as deep as he can into your cunt and searching out the spots that make you gasp and moan sweetly for him.

He swipes his tongue just right, and you fall over the edge, grunting and whimpering and twitching all over.

You roll over from on top of him and he gasps wildly, hair ruined and mouth wet and swollen pink. He just looks at you as you gain your breath, your insides gooey and warm and pulsing with aftershocks. He gives you a small, coy little smile.

“I guess I’m not the only one who was missing it.”

You shove at him playfully, all pretense falling away for a moment. You sit up to clear your head, not forgetting that he’s still hard, and leaking, and needy.

“Turn over. Hands and knees.” You tell him. His blush returns tenfold. He glances away from you in tentative embarrassment, though it’s obvious that what he’s hoping for isn’t going to be damped by a little thing like shame. He doesn’t have to be a shameful creature with you.

He does as you command, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows and knees, his back already slightly arched. You’re definitely appreciating the view. He hides his face from you.

“Oh, wow.” You grin. “Smooth as butter, huh?”

“Shut up.” He snaps, his voice muffled by the pillow. You take a moment to really see the view of him- his tight pink hole is smooth and perfect, obviously recently waxed. Or maybe even lasered. You never know with him. You run your fingers over him, light as a whisper, dragging a caress over his cock to his balls and finally to his hole. It twitches. Cute.

“I should take a picture, pretty as you are.” You say. You grab his cheeks in each of your hands, spreading him fully.

He mutters something about our NDA, something about you being a bitch. You don’t really pay any mind as you lean over him and spit out a thick glob of saliva over the tight ring of muscle, making him gasp.

He goes perfectly still In anticipation, his dick jerking with every lick you apply to him. You drag your tongue against his perineum up to his hole- he tastes clean, like only salt. You know he’s obsessive with how he grooms himself. Saliva slowly runs down, leaving a trail of wet across his balls.

You slip your hand under him to grab his length to give him one long, smooth pull, earning a tiny little whimper from him. You plant your mouth fully on his hole, tongue rubbing circles into the muscle. You jerk him off slowly, too slow to ever bring him to completion. He whines and twitches under your touch and you feel a throb deep in your core for the way he’s trembling.

You bring your head away from him earning a slight wet pop as your mouth breaks the seal it had over his hole, leaving your drool to cool on his heated skin. You slide your hand over his cock faster, gathering up his precum to make the slide easier, your grip is intense and tightens more around the base, pulling down and milking him like some breeding stud. His hips begin to move in the air, and the noises he makes, muffled by the pillow, are throaty and low. You know how he sounds when he’s close, how he shakes with the climb, and when he nears his peak you abruptly pull away to deny him. He groans loudly in frustration and need, and finally looks over his shoulder to glare at you, his fucked out expression not hiding his irritation.

“I don’t want you ruining the sheets.” You say. He catches on immediately, sitting up and grabbing you to put you under him. He practically rips the slip from your body, the fabric strains and the stitches pop, pulling it up and over your head so he can press his flushed skin against yours.

You almost protest, you actually did like that dress, but he kisses you with teeth and growls something about buying you a new one. He grabs your breasts roughly and you feel the length of him pillowing itself against your lips. But he doesn’t do more than that, rutting against your cunt and swallowing your noises with his mouth. He whines.

“Naoya,” You say, when your hot tongues part, “Naoya-“

He grabs your hips and positions you perfectly to plunge his aching cock into your slick heat, as desperate as an animal, and just as rough.

The sudden intrusion makes you cry out in pleasure, his thrusts coming in quick, needy bursts. He presses his sweaty brow into the pillow under your head. His hands hold your waist like a lifeline, his need ramming inside of yours, jerking and twitching and hot and wet. He kisses your cervix with every pump, leaving you breathless and needy.

But you know he can’t finish properly like this. You can see it when he pulls back to look at you, his face flushed and his mouth open and drooling. You wind your hands around his throat and squeeze, blocking his air and turning his noises into tiny pathetic gasps and wheezes. It doesn’t take long. His hips stutter and he finally, finally finds what he’s looking for, tipping over and cumming so hard he stops even trying to breathe. You feel every drop of him rush out to paint your insides, his cock throbbing hot within your liquid-warm walls.

You release his throat and he takes a sharp, ragged inhale, his body locking up with the rush of oxygen and endorphins. His cock pulses inside of you again as if his balls aren’t spent completely, and you feel his cum finding its way to the entrance of your hole and spilling out around his length, way too much to be plugged up inside.

“Fuck,” He grunts, “fuck.”

You hum and run your palms up his sides and down his back where you can reach as he pieces his senses back together. He pulls from your core and you hiss in strange pleasure and slight soreness.

He rolls to the side and slumps on the bed, breathing deep and enjoying the afterglow. You wiggle your hips, feeling him leak out of you even more, thick and warm.

You’re both silent for a few minutes. His watch dings right as you turn to touch his chest, his arms, run your fingers over the angry red on his neck.

He glances at it. Groans in pure discontent.

“Work?” You trace his nipple with an idle finger.

“Yes.” He sits up, glancing over the mess of the bed. “I’ve got an eight o’clock tomorrow, apparently.”

“You can’t cancel?” You shift and stretch, not missing how his eyes graze over your body. “You’ve already booked me for twenty four hours.”

“No.” He says, simply. “Obligations… responsibilities… I don’t know, whatever bullshit you want to call it.”

“Do you want a shower?” You lean over and press your smeared mouth to his shoulder, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “I mean, of course it’s disgusting, but you don’t want to go home smelling like… well, you know.”

Naoya breathes, long and deep. Then he looks back at you.

“You getting in with me?”

A/N: “Tuna” is a term in Japanese hookup culture that can be equated to a ‘pillow princess’ in an extreme sense. There’s nothing wrong with being a pillow princess, but I personally believe it’s not something this Naoya is particularly into.

Thank you so much for reading!

#JujutsuJournal #Naoya Zenin x Reader #Naoya x Reader #jjk #x reader #fem reader #Reader x Naoya #naoya zenin #jjk naoya #jujutsu kaisen #i don't even fw naoya that much tbh #fizee.post

[valleydoli]

idk if you know but @mysteria157 updated chapter 2 of her toji fic!! I recommend reading it

i have read it! literally like 30 minutes ago lol ♡xx

#𐙚 dollies 𐙚

[astrayas]

Now that your asks are on…how does it feel to be a baddie writer? I need tips, pamphlets, and guides you have to be able to write like I was born with a pen in my hand. 🎤 ?

omg well I can always get inspiration from this one blog - https://mysteria157.tumblr.com/

she's the true wordsmith 😌

#askthea #ask away

[mysteria157]

Chapter One

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

CW: Profanity, Hints of Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Comfort

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

“I’m only going to say this one more time, Toji. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

His hands are so bloody, that if you ever knew the source, you would'nt want someone like him to try. He shouldn't be here, taking up so much of your time, asking for more. But he's selfish.

-or; Toji, a notorious hitman, moves to America for more money and a better life for his son. He didnt expect to sleep with you, let alone want more. When his dangerous life catches up to him, he takes on one final lucrative hit, but realizes this target has unseen connections hitting closer to home. Now he must navigate a perilous job while desperately keeping his criminal double life hidden from you.

Authors Notes: Hello! I hope you all enjoy this first chapter. As stated in the masterlist, this fic is a continuation from Maneater, so reading that will definitely help set the tone for this fic. I plan to dig deep with this story and really find my voice writing a different genre.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

| Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Prologue | Next Chapter

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

…women like you drown oceans -Rupi Kaur

*** You ***

Pop!

The sharp sound of gum expanding and then exploding causes you to flinch, your eyeliner pen frozen just above your lid. Through the mirror’s reflection, you shoot a glare at the open closet door, where your cousin rummages through your clothes.

Pop!

She’s in her own little world. If this were any other circumstance, she would have been scolded for her habit of popping gum—a top offender on the list of annoying behaviors ingrained in both of you since childhood. You detest the sound, and if you were closer, you would have punched her in the stomach by now.

You and your cousin typically get along well, but she enjoys testing your limits to coax you out of your shell. The only way to shut her up is by letting her tire herself out during her talkative rampages or swinging at her when you’ve had enough.

Every day with her is a gamble of which will come first.

Your eyeliner is still hovering by your upper lid, suspended in place as you watch another sundress get haphazardly thrown against the closet wall instead of being put back on a hanger where it fucking belongs.

You can’t bother with trying to get violent with her, you’re way too preoccupied with other thoughts. More incessant thoughts like how to play it cool on a date. It’s not that hard, right? Be yourself, get a gauge of the man trying to impress you, entertain a few hours of your day and then back home to relax.

Easy.

If it were anyone else but Toji, then it would be easy.

You had buried yourself in double shifts and extended hours in the lab just to distract yourself from today. Anything to keep you busy and keep your mind off the fact that someone you are sort of interested in…wants to see you. And he reminds you every day when you look down at your phone.

Despite his admission of being a lazy texter, Toji is surprisingly consistent. But the messages take on a blunt form wrapped around a small pearl of care.

Toji: Eat breakfast. What good are you in a hospital if you pass out?

Toji: Stop taking on more shifts, its stupid. Go home and rest.

Toji: You better not be tired this weekend. 

No matter how hard you try to force your face to stay immobile, each text makes your lips twitch into a small smile. He masks his words in harsh deliveries, but the intention is obvious. The satisfying jolt that shoots up your spine when your phone buzzes with a notification from him should be embarrassing. It should be.

But you love it.

It’s absurd, really. Only two weeks have passed since you met him, hardly enough time to form any meaningful connection. Yet, that night at your uncle’s was unexpectedly delightful. Toji was, against your better judgment, charming and attentive, almost to the point of clinginess. And, undeniably, he’s attractive. And a fucking fantastic lay.

So, despite your instinct to ignore a man and the way they flaunt their feathers for your attention, you want Toji to bring that same energy as last time.

You lean your elbows back into the shiny wood of your vanity, focusing your attention on your eye as you lower the eyeliner to your skin.

Pop!

The sound makes you jump, disrupting your focus and smearing the eyeliner across your temple.

“Rene!” you bark, slamming your eyeliner down on the vanity top with a force that makes your hand sting, and you yank a drawer open in search of a makeup wipe. “Stop popping your gum before I come over there and beat the shit out of you.” As you wipe off the smudged makeup, you catch the reflection of your cousin emerging from your closet.

She embodies a beauty that’s almost blinding, matched only by her lively personality. So naturally, heads turn when she enters a room, her chocolate skin seemingly radiant wherever she goes. With her thick, kinky hair always in a protective style and her unshakeable confidence in her intelligence and appearance, Rene caught Shiu’s attention immediately, and he’s been captivated ever since.

She is one of very few in your family who truly gets you, who sees the world with clarity and understands its nuances and how to navigate through it without compromising her ideals. Since childhood, you’ve stuck to each other like glue. She understands you and your guarded demeanor, you understand her and her loud personality. She’s one of your best friends.

But at this moment, as she stands before you in booty shorts and a tank top that accentuates her curves, her twist out cascading from a pineapple updo, and an outfit draped over one arm, she is pissing you off as she pops her gum againwith a cheeky expression.

“I like your makeup.” A sly grin stretches on her face, enhancing her soft features. You ignore her, feeling your defenses rise as she effortlessly peels back your layers. The liquid eyeliner glides against the smooth brown of your skin, forming a subtle cat-eye as you pretend not to notice her approaching you from behind.

She gracefully settles onto your vanity top, ignoring your lipstick casing that teeters over and rolls across the shiny surface. You shoot her another glare before moving to your other eye. “You should put on some mascara too. When you give him head later today, I’m sure he’ll love to see it run down your cheeks and—”

You swing at her not even a second later, landing a solid smack on the side of her thigh. “UM Ow?!”

“Um?? Shut the fuck up,” you growl, sneering at her with a leveling scowl that you hope cuts through her.

It doesn’t.

Rene snorts, shrugging off the vanity and moving to your bed to change her clothes. As she pulls your dark jeans over her thick thighs, you can’t help but wonder if you should dress more…sexy?  Your jean shorts reveal enough skin, and the jersey fits snugly around your torso. You’re no stranger to dressing to the nines and making heads turn just like her, but you value practicality more than appeal. It’s a football game, after all, and you love football. Why bother looking overly sexy when you’ll be screaming and stuffing hotdogs and pretzels in your mouth?

Despite the logic, a hand of insecurity tightens around your throat.

Rene, like the annoyingly clairvoyant bitch she is, tastes the shift in the air and rolls her eyes at you through the mirror’s reflection. “You look fucking amazing. Toji asked you out—frequently, I might add.”

The memories of his persistence flash through your mind in a rush. Heated touches in the backseat of your truck, sweaty skin sliding against each other, and your mouth dripping with moans of satisfaction were constantly interrupted by his repeated question.

“Let me take you out.”

As if he couldn’t get enough. As if he wanted more. As if he wouldn’t leave your uncle’s house that night until you flat-out told him to leave you alone.

You haven’t entertained a man since your cheating ex, so your defenses remain high and guarded, fortified with brick and mortar, armed to fend off anyone who comes too close.

But in such a short time, Toji managed to advance further than others with hard skin resilient to your attacks, and a constant insistence to be by your side. He’s spoken to you in ways that would have landed others in the ER, yet his words were always laced with harsh care to make you confront your own overreactions instead of hiding.

“Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.”

“You’re not mean to men; you just don’t do bullshit.”

“It’s okay to be a little excited about this,” Rene interjects, slicing through the thick current of your anxiety.

And you are, excited and a little nervous, though you don’t respond to her, simply reaching for your clear lip gloss to finish your makeup.

By the time there is a knock on your door thirty minutes later, you and Rene are ready to go. Your curls are piled high on your head, tendrils falling to frame your face and your hairline slicked with curled edges. There’s a subtle shake in your hands wrapped around the handle of your front door, betraying the calm façade you wear.  As you open it, expecting Toji’s familiar face, you’re met with Shiu, a toothpick in his mouth and a gentle smile playing on his lips.

You greet him warmly with a hug, letting him inside. He can only hug you for a second before rushing past you and toward the direction of your room, anxious to see his fiancé. “Don’t fuck on my bed!” you yell after him, loud enough for your cousin to hear.

It’s only a minute later when there’s a knock at the door that makes you jump, shocking you into reality again as you realize that you haven’t moved since inviting Shiu inside. In your stupidity, you look through the peephole and swallow the gasp at Toji’s distorted form.

“I can see your feet. Open the door,” his deep voice cuts, familiar and commanding.

Your fingers curl against the wooden surface of your door, nails scratching lightly along the veneer as you wrestle with the innate temptation to be stubborn. Besides Nanami Kento—another close friend and coworker—Toji is the only man you’ve let talk to you like this. He’s a little bit of an asshole, but beneath his rough exterior lies a tender core that beckons you to peel back the layers like an onion, eager to feel just how soft the bulb is in the center. You’re drawn to him in a way you can’t explain, and it’s a longing that ignites a hunger that you haven’t experienced in a very long time.

With a resigned sigh, you swing the door open to be welcomed by the sight of him, a picture that leaves you momentarily breathless. You swallow the drool that pools instantly in the back of your throat, curl your toes in your sneakers to resist the urge to spring forward and slant your lips against his, and bite the inside of your lip so the twitching on the sides does not turn into a gentle smirk.

“You look good, baby,” his words roll off his tongue effortlessly, his gaze sweeping over you with a knowing intensity. It feels as though he’s studying a heavily guarded masterpiece that he finally has his hands on to steal. He notices every stroke of paint, every blotch that makes you who you are and it’s with a concentration that leaves you dizzy enough to grip the door tighter in your hands.

Though only a week has passed since you last saw him, his presence still grips you with a force that borders on intoxicating. Clad in a black shirt that accentuates his commanding presence, his broad shoulders exude a magnetic strength that summons you, stirring a primal desire to dig your fingernails into him like you did that night in your truck. One of his hands is tucked in a jeaned pocket, the other is behind his back, and jet-black locks brush his cheeks as he chuckles, undoubtedly amused by the dumbfounded stare that you’re still shooting his way. His scar cradles the side of his lips in a seductive curl as he smirks.

God, he’s so—he’s so—

His presence seems to fill the entire room, a tangible force even without crossing the threshold of your home. An urgent ache surges within you, craving the warmth of his embrace, the security of his strength.

“You gonna let me in or just keep your mouth open for the flies?” His voice breaks the reverie in your mind, a well-known blend of annoyance that fills your chest immediately. You’re reminded of how effortlessly irritating he can be, yet there’s a strange allure in his confidence.

At this point, you don’t have a quip loaded up quick enough to shoot back at him. So, you step aside and hold your breath as his large body crosses the threshold of your home.

The last time he was at your door, he barged inside with a barely contained fury and pulled you into an argument that stemmed from your unwillingness to be vulnerable and his lack of expertise in expressing himself. It was a weird song and dance that marked the beginning of something you still don’t fully understand. Now, he’s here with a slightly different demeanor, calm and self-assured as he plants a firm kiss on your cheek as if he’s a hardworking husband returning home just in time for dinner.

You gape at his nonchalance, watching in disbelief as he kicks off his shoes and pulls his hand from behind his back, presenting you a bouquet of flowers in a manner that feels both rushed and sincere. You look down at the flowers, wide-eyed and blinking to make sure the reality you are currently in isn’t actually a simulation.

Daisies.

Not the cheap, wilted blooms you kind of expected from him, but fresh, vibrant flowers. Their white petals gleam softly, each grain of pollen in the yellow center visible in the light of your kitchen. The stems are freshly cut, wrapped in a simple red bow and your chest is fluttering with a severity that unsettles you.

“I didn’t know what kind you liked. And I don’t trust Shiu with an honest answer so…” His words trail off, leaving unspoken sentiments lingering in the air.

 Your lips curl around words that won’t form, and you mentally sort through your book of tricks. It’s a book you’ve spent years filling after countless experiences. Men will do just about anything for pussy. There’s no reason to be shocked at why they do the things they do—they’re all the same.

But even from that first day you met, you have already shuffled through your book when it comes to Toji. Every time you look up whatever trick he tries to pull, you come up with an empty page. There’s never a solution or a pre-written response that you can use. You have no choice but to figure this out on your own and fill in the pages later.

“If you don’t like them, you don’t have to take them,” he cuts into your thoughts, words edged with a trace of embarrassment that he’s trying to cover up with frustration. “Just give them back—” He reaches for the flowers, and you reflexively pull your arms away, much to your own shock at the way your body moves on its own.

“I like them,” you blurt out, your voice not as strong as you want it to be but thankfully steady as the words leave your lips. “They’re very nice, Toji. Thank you.”

He drops his hand, shoves it deep into the pocket of his jeans before clearing his throat and giving you a sharp nod. His eyes take in your face for only a second before they flit away to focus on a random spot in your living room, a hint of blush on his cheeks that makes the fluttering in your chest pick up in speed. It’s a weird feeling that will consume you if you don’t stay in control.

So, you push it down, swallow the pool of saliva in your mouth so it can help the glide, all the way down to the pit of your belly to extinguish the embers that threaten to lick to life. You shuffle past him and into the kitchen to fetch a vase, your mind sorting through the symptoms of various pulmonary diseases to distract yourself from the giddiness of him getting you flowers.

A normal thing. The bare minimum for a man. But it makes you feel great all the same. They aren’t your favorite, not even close, but it’s a gesture that shatters your preconceived notions about Toji that probably shouldn’t be there in the first place.

“What are they?” he asks, face still pink below his eyes that linger on the countertop instead of at you. You untie the bow at the stems and slide the daisies into an antique vase with crystalline ridges, shooting him a questioning raised eyebrow in response. One of his hands gestures wildly to the vase you are filling with water. “Your favorite flowers.”

“Snapdragons.” Toji throws you a quizzical look, his eyebrows pinched together in a clear display of confusion that makes you chuckle. You push the now full vase of flowers to the center of your kitchen countertop, the sight warming your stomach no matter how much you try to stop it. “They aren’t in season, but there’s a vendor here that sells them in the Spring and Fall. Growing up, we lived right next to a river where they would grow. My father would pick them every year and bring them to my mother as a gift. Whenever they wilted, he picked more and replaced them…over and over until they weren’t in season anymore.”

You dig your teeth into the wet flesh of your cheek to stop yourself from rambling, the need to talk more about yourself is at the tip of your tongue. He’s quiet as he takes in your response, eyebrows twitching with fleeting emotion before they smooth out into their usual calm expression. Maybe it’s your eyes playing tricks, but he looks as if he’s locked away your little nugget of information and is ready to move on to the next thing.

More of you.

That gaze is now free of shyness and taking you in, sharp and cutting and rough around the edges, his green irises sliding down to the exposed skin of your thighs, and they must beckon him because he makes his way towards you with a dominating presence that tightens your throat. He walks around the countertop, avoiding the sharp edge from biting into his side and now he’s standing in front of you, looming and dwarfing you without even trying. You catch a whiff of his cheap cologne—a different scent from what you smelled before—but still rich with bergamot undertones that make you more curious than bothered at his frugal mentality.

“Can I kiss you? Or you gonna smack me instead?”

Even though he’s teasing, he displays the growing knowledge of your boundaries and the lengths you will go to protect yourself.

“What, you want to get smacked, Toji?” you retort, lifting an eyebrow at him, your neck tingling from the strain of looking up due to his height. God, he’s such a big man. Big and burly and just enough to overwhelm you in a way that you crave so, so much.

“Nah. I want a kiss,” he confidently responds, blowing away the cloud of lust from around your head.

He’s too close and yet not close enough. He smells too good, looks too good with a voice that’s too deep and melodic for you to ride on logic for a full day, but you need him closer, so much closer and—

Your back brushes against the edge of the kitchen sink, making you tense at the realization that he’s backed you up against it and is looking down at you with that nasty smirk you entertain more than you should.

“You…” you begin, trailing off when one of his muscular arms reaches past you to rest onto the counter on one side, still giving you an escape route even though you’ll take being trapped against him any time of the day. “You already kissed me on the cheek when you walked in without asking me. Don’t be stingy.”

Toji clicks his tongue in disappointment, the sound pushing a rush of electricity down your spine that’s generating too much energy between your legs. He shrugs, broad shoulders pulling up and down, stretching his shirt in the most delicious way. “That’s not enough.”

Although lust is darkening your thoughts slowly despite your resolve, you still have enough common sense to remember the kind of woman you are. You’re someone unwilling to tolerate fuckboy behavior and would rather humiliate a man than give in to temptation that would only embarrass you in the future. You have to stay in control. Just for the rest of the day to measure his intentions with a level head. Even though you feel heavy with lidded eyes, you slip into that second skin of yourself with ease.

“Ask nicely,” you whisper.

He takes the bait—like they always do—and slinks further into your space, his broad and muscular form brushes against your softer one. Your gaze remains indifferent as he asks to kiss you in a sing-song voice that’s borderline annoying and teasing, threatening to make you laugh despite your resistance.

You take in his question with a noncommittal hum and slide a hand up the soft fabric of his chest. The muscles underneath flex and twitch beneath your palm, echoing memories of that unforgettable night when you could slide your fingers on the sweat of his abs as you rode him for all he was worth.

Your hand rests against his cheek, watching as he slowly falls for your trap, inhaling deeply with his lips a mere breath away from yours before you speak calmly and softly.

“No.”

You stroke his cheek in a soothing manner before patting it a little too hard that’s close to a smack, yanking a grunt of frustration from him as he pulls away with an bothered growl. You relish in the sigh of his scar twisting when his face curls with annoyance, his eyes rolling and his arms folding across his chest like a child being denied dessert. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your lips, growing in intensity as his eyes narrow at you.

“You’re so damn annoying,” he pouts, and the fact that he truly looks put off for not getting a kiss only makes you laugh harder.

***

The sight and sound of cheering fans excite you, filling you with childhood memories of games with your father. As the four of you make your way through the large parking lot and in the direction of the stadium, you take in the display of emotions that cross Toji’s face as he is immersed in a part of culture unfamiliar to him. The intricacies of American sports are puzzling to Toji, you realize. While you wave excitedly to the fans who are tailgating and grilling food and playing cornhole, he looks on in disbelief. When you explain the concept of tailgating to him, his expression deepens even more. He doesn’t like the hecklers that litter right outside the entrance and try to sell nosebleed tickets twelve times the market price. He thinks porta-pottys are foul as he takes in the long line of people who wait along the side of the large parking lot. You can tell he’s a little overwhelmed, and aggravated by the new things he learns. But he doesn’t complain, content to listen to the three of you as he watches his surroundings.

Despite the array of emotions that engulf him, he keeps you by his side without a second thought. The closer you get to the stadium, the thicker the crowd gets. When you make it through security and begin the long journey up the stone circular walkway of the stadium, Toji wraps a muscular arm around you and rests his hand on your hip in a grip that conveys a protective strength that shoots fluctuating reactions through you.

At first, you think he just wants his hands on you, and you’re prepared to smack his touch away. But then your perception shifts; a random man bumps into you with a sharp elbow into your arm and he turns around with an angry expression ready to yell. The glare that Toji levels at him leaves the man sputtering and apologizing before he slinks back into the crowd.

Normally, you don’t thrive off blatant displays of masculinity, but the sight of the man running away from Toji’s imposing stare makes your stomach fill with a deep-seated lust that surprises you. Like you’re a cavewoman, watching her caveman beat at his chest when another caveman gets too close to you. Toji grumbles to himself about the sheer number of people, his voice tinged with frustration even though his reassuring touch is gentle as he guides you through the throng of people toward your seats.

Thankfully, they aren’t nosebleeds, and they give you a good view of the field, with players already warming up. There is a large group of kids who hang off the rails, squealing in delight as their favorite players come and say hello and sign their jerseys and footballs. The speakers boom with music and commercial ads, the warm air carries the smell of popcorn up your nose, and your blood pumps in excitement.

It has been a while since you attended a football game, distant memories of sitting on your father’s shoulders as you both cheered in the stands. Since his death, you haven’t had the drive nor the time to attend another. So, to be in this position again with a man you are still trying to understand, it’s odd. But it’s not unwelcome and you’re going to enjoy every minute of it. When you watch football at home with your family, you’re a different person. You are loud and unashamed to express your feelings when you watch the games unfold. You stand up and sneer and bark at the officiant who can’t even hear you. You argue with your family about plays and players who will never know you. You love every emotion that the game brings out in you, and you’re unashamed to hide it. Toji is going to see a side of you that will either push him away or make him slink closer for more.

So, when the game begins with the kickoff, you join in the collective screams of the crowd, waving a towel in the air adorned with the yellow and black of your favorite team that is playing.

To your surprise once more, Toji did his homework. He effortlessly explains the rules as you both watch the first quarter together, looking to you for approval to make sure he’s correct. His attentive nature transforms into active participation as he cheers alongside you, his voice deep and booming compared to your screeching.

In the second quarter, there’s an injury on the field and the clash of pads ceases for long enough that fans leave their seats for food and to stretch their legs. Shiu and Rene disappear to get themselves a drink and it’s just you and Toji in the middle of empty seats.

“You’re a screamer,” he teases, his voice low and appreciative as he leans on his thigh with a cheek resting on his fist. His hair flows in the warm air before settling on pale cheeks.

“Too loud for you?” you retort, even if mildly curious about what he thinks of this side of yourself.

Toji purses his lips as he regards you with relaxed eyes. “It didn’t take me long to realize you’re not a dainty little thing. And besides,” A smile stretches across his face, white teeth glinting with a sinister disposition before his lips load with a remark you know will be salacious. “I like my women loud.”

You can be loud if he wants you to be. Preferably in another place besides your car where he can thrust like a man mad between your legs and dig those gleaming white teeth into the skin of your neck—

Oh.

For fuck’s sake. 

Your blood simmers in your veins at the suggestion in his words. His eyes watch your throat when you swallow a thick pool of spit and that smile grows impossibly larger, a Cheshire cat looking at you with nasty intent. He’s too aware of the effect he has on women, and you have to look away from him to resist succumbing to the seductive charm that he wields naturally.

You steer the conversation back into your hands. “You were so curious about me when we first met but I don’t know much about you. Are you here in America for a reason? What do you do for work?”

In your own line of work, observation is key; every subtle cue from your patients holds significance, revealing layers of truths that they usually try to conceal. So, when you notice the tension in Toji’s jaw at your question, the way his features contort subtly, it’s a detail you slot into a drawer of curiosity that takes part of the file cabinet of Toji in your mind.

“I’m a private investigator,” he confesses harshly, catching you off guard. It’s a revelation you don’t anticipate. His imposing features give you the impression of a firefighter or maybe even a cop. Not someone watching others in his car, bugging houses and apartments, and gathering evidence. A PI? You open that drawer of curiosity again and slot away this information as well. He shrugs away the awkwardness that your silence brings, nonchalant and dismissive, avoiding your gaze. “It pays the bills. The hours suck sometimes but…the work is easy.”

“So…naturally I can’t really ask about the things you do?” you don’t hide the inquisitiveness that coats your words.

“It’s nothing glamorous enough to talk about.” And that’s all he offers you in response.

You have a myriad of questions swirling in your mind, each vying for attention from a man who is as tight-lipped as you. How did he even get into this kind of work? Who are his clients? Cheaters, embezzlers…or criminals?

That and so much more brew in your mind, tumbling over the other but ultimately dissipating when you sense his reluctance, evident from his still-averted gaze and tense shoulders.

“What about family? You asked me about mine, but I never got to hear about yours.”

Granted, you only told him about the members of your family who danced in your backyard when you both were wrapped in one another two weeks ago. He doesn’t know about the more intimate parts of your family life. He doesn’t know about your father’s death, or the estrangement of your stepfamily. But that can come later. Toji hasn’t given you enough of himself.

Toji’s features now morph into disdain, souring the air between you. The bright emerald of his eyes dims with a grayish overcast, the liquid of the irises hardening like cooling lava.

His response is terse, laced with palpable displeasure that intensifies the acrid taste in the air. “There isn’t much to tell. I don’t get along with them, and they do their best to not get along with me either.” The timbre of his voice is lower, menacing enough to let you know it’s a subject he won’t entertain. At least for right now.

You open your mouth to speak again, to maybe apologize for making him uncomfortable, to reassure him that you wouldn’t judge him over something like this. He shifts in his seat, clasps his hands together and absentmindedly picks at a callous on the side of his thumb. The pink flush on his cheeks is not one of bashfulness, but of frustration and embarrassment. From the sliver of his eyes you can see, there is something simmering beneath the surface that might take you a while to unveil.

 “I do have a son, though.” The sentence shoots into the air and down your spine with a chilling clarity, breaking the flow of your thoughts as you blink in astonishment.

Pardon???

Considering he’s a grown man a few years older than you, it’s understandable. But the notion of him being a father never crossed your mind. The concept of children isn’t foreign to you; you see and take care of them every day. It’s the concept of children coming from him that’s a new development you have to consider.

While you believe you can handle a relationship with a single father, you’re upset at being told now, rather than before.

“You were with me all day two weeks ago and you never took the time to mention you have a son?”

You don’t hide your irritation. Once your trust is lost, it’s almost impossible to regain. Why would you give away sacred pieces of yourself to a man you wouldn’t trust to hold those pieces with care?

Despite your frustration, you rationalize.

Maybe Toji was nervous to bring it up? Some people may like to ease into such topics. This relationship, or whatever this is, is brand new and smooth. There haven’t been any cracks caused by arguments or behavior that is damaging.

But this isn’t about having a job that he’s not proud of or admitting that he is not financially responsible. This is about an entire child, a facet of his life that he cannot hide away. How long would he have waited to tell you if the topic of family hadn’t come up so soon? Would he have told you? Would he hide his son away and push him off to a babysitter on date nights so you are never aware? Would he sleep over at your house, so you can’t see the room that’s decorated for a child or the toys scattered about the floor?

As you wrestle with the growing anxiety that crawls across your skin, Toji fumbles for something in his pocket, his face a satisfying beet red as you watch him hand you his open phone. Bright from the illumination of the screen, you take in a picture of a young boy who bears a striking resemblance to Toji. His raven locks spiky and disheveled, his green eyes sharp and ethereal, and he wears a bored and calm expression just like his father. The chubbiness of his cheeks and innocence in his eyes tug at something in your chest; he can’t be any older than six years old. The sight of the boy makes you think of the many kids you take care of every day, and some of the frustration subsides within you.

“His name is Megumi,” he informs you, shy despite his rough exterior. He picks at the callous on the side of his thumb again, and one of his legs begins to shake in place.

The frustration dies down more. It’s a beautiful name, and as you look at the picture, a small smile tugs at your lips. You wonder what kind of a boy he is.

“Fuck listen—just I-I’m shit at this.”

You look up at him and take in the apprehension on his face. His lips are downturned in a gentle frown, the scar on the side of his face warped along with the muscles of his mouth. There’s a sense of shame in his gaze, and it somehow makes you feel relieved to know that he can feel just how upset you are.

“I don’t date women…I fuck them and stay around until they want me gone.” He doesn’t bother to sugarcoat his words. They shoot out of his mouth, piercing your skin with their directness. It’s a little painful, and you struggle to absorb his blatant honesty, feeling flashes of anger and indignation fill your chest as your lips part, ready to respond with directness of your own. “But you’re the first woman in a long fucking time that’s made me want more. So just…” he trails off, stuttering over what to say before ultimately growling low in his throat into silence.

You hesitate, lips flinching and syllables of fury dissipating in the small space between your top and bottom lip. “You gonna let me meet him?” you snap because you’re still mildly irritated as you give him his phone and pinch the muscle of his bicep with a harshness that reflects your fading anger and your desire to see him squirm for his actions.

He swats your hand away as if you’re a pest, moving his arm from you with a sneer that holds no malice. “No let me just lock him in my closet every time I want to see you—of course, I’ll fucking let you meet him.”

You throw him a withering glare, ignoring his sarcasm, and the smirk that slides onto his lips only makes you want to either smack or kiss him. The fact that you can’t decide on which only annoys you more.

*** Toji ***

“Gimme two hot dogs and a pretzel,” Toji mutters to the concession stand attendant. It’s halftime, and the walkways behind the stands are crowded with fans hurrying to go to the bathroom, or for more food and alcohol. You stand close to him, a welcome warmth that he wants more of but refuses to ask for on the off chance you deny him. He doesn’t feel like pouting for the rest of the day.

“And what’ll it be for the lady?” the attendant asks with a level of humor that is off-putting, a smile on his face that Toji knows you itch to smack off.

“It is for the lady,” you correct, a hint of condescension falling from plush lips that you still won’t let him taste. The attendant sputters, his face red as a tomato as he takes the rest of Toji’s order, doing his best to ignore the deadly glare you shoot him as he counts Toji’s money. A snort rattles from Toji’s chest as he watches you. He’s known from the beginning that you’re fiery, but seeing it firsthand fascinates and arouses him at the same time.

This environment is different for him, odd in every way, and a foreign ground that he’s unsteady on. The celebratory atmosphere reminds him of the loud laughter and fireworks from festivals that he could hear outside the Zenin compound throughout the year. He thinks of the Tanabata festivals he never got to experience or the years of Hanami that he was forbidden to enjoy. He could only take a small bit of pleasure in cherry blossoms in the Zenin gardens, blooming and scattering their petals on the well-kept grass to mark the beginning of the season. As a child, he was never allowed much. He was seen as ‘inferior trash’ that was insignificant and unworthy to be looked at let alone talked to unless it was to yell or belittle. Naturally, his family didn’t want others to see where said trash came from if they could help it.

He can’t think about it right now—he won’t. The thought of his family brings a tight coil of pain and anger in his chest, a coil he had used as fuel to cope with his dangerous decisions.

There’s so much more that he needs to focus on, like the fact that you’ve already taken a big bite out of one of your hot dogs. Half of it has disappeared from your hand, and there’s ketchup on the edge of your mouth as you chew. He notices the way you shift your hips from side to side in your seat, and the satisfied hum that escapes your throat. You’re satisfied, and while you eat with manners, you don’t hide your boisterous enjoyment, finishing one hot dog and moving on to the next, your pretzel wedged between the meat of your seductive thighs.

He’s been trying to be respectful all day ever since you denied him a kiss in the kitchen, but you’re tempting him. When you answered the door earlier in the afternoon, the hand that was in his pocket pinched the side of his thigh until the shameless thoughts could fade away.

You’ve graced his presence with shorts and a jersey, a yellow and black number that lays against your chocolate skin in a way that still seems to make you glow in the setting sun. No braids this time, your natural curls have fallen from your bun after screaming so much, framing your face and causing your gold hoops to wink at him. You didn’t wear makeup that night when he met you, so the sight of eyeliner on you today, and the way it accentuates the curve of your eye and the heaviness of your long lashes, it makes him shift in his seat.

He’s had to clench his jaw and bear the pain of his teeth grinding against each other to stop himself from ogling at the mouth-watering canvas of your legs. You’re all curves with dimples at the bottom of your thighs when you sit, and his gums ache to sink into the flesh so you can squeal and beg for him to touch you where you want it most. It’s been weeks since that night and he’s feigning for more. When you smile at him or shoot him a glare, it reminds him of that commanding aura you had in the backseat of your truck, and the back of his neck prickles with sweat.

While the thought of you skinning him alive if he decides to be a Neanderthal turns him on, he wants to be civil. In your kitchen earlier today, you allowed him to get close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin, to catch the scent of coconut from your curls, tantalizing his senses until your firm ‘no’ sobered him up immediately. It was a stark reminder of who you are, and how little you tolerate.

He'll behave.

His eyes catch you guzzling down five heaping gulps of your beer, the foam coating your upper lip. You wipe it away with your finger, sucking the digit into your mouth, and popping it out completely oblivious to how sinful you look and Toji’s catapulted into that day when you sucked your own cum off his fingers.

He has to behave.

The vibration of his phone in his pocket sours his mood immediately, turning his gaze from your form as he digs into his pocket. It’s the third time it’s buzzed today, and he knows who it is. No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he can only put off his job for so long.

Unknown: Good job on the assignment last week. 

Unknown: Your pay should be in your account by tonight.

Unknown: There’s another contract for you if you’re interested. Message me back and I’ll send you details.

“Everything okay?” Your voice pulls him from his phone, and he meets your curious gaze, one of your elegant eyebrows lifting in question as you assess him. “Something with work?”

“Yea,” he replies and regrets it immediately.

Lie #1

It’s not a complete lie—it is work—but the details…

Toji takes a long swig of his beer, attempting to soothe the shame that washes over him.

You really are a screamer.

Toji sits back in his seat, watching you with a wicked smile as you unleash a torrent of colorful language that makes his cock twitch. Even though you roar with the crowd, your voice rises higher.

“That’s a fucking flag! I should come down there and officiate for you instead you stupid piece of shit!”

Your curls brush the skin of your cheeks that puff in your frustration, your arms folding across your chest as you cock your hip and growl beneath your breath. You’re easily the loudest one in this section of the stands. Rene revels in it, egging you on by rooting for the opposite team and giggling when you bark at her. Shiu is content to watch the display, a fresh toothpick in his mouth and an arm over Rene’s shoulders as he idly twirls a lock of hair at her nape. You’re all yelling and sputtering indignation as you watch the game unfold, your team losing by what Toji has learned is a touchdown.

He knew this side of you was there. He could tell in the weight of your gaze that night. It's a side of you that he did not expect to see so soon. He soaks it in. He takes in the way you cuss out the man three rows down who won’t stop glaring at you. He absorbs how high-pitched the screech of your voice makes his eardrums shake, and he revels in the smile that forms on your lips when your team scores the game-winning touchdown.

When there are lulls in the game, you tell him about your career. You’re a pulmonary pediatric fellow at a hospital here in town that’s only a year and a half from completing your fellowship. You smile when you talk about the kids you take care of and your associates at work. You’re proud of your research and of how far you’ve come.

All of it, every part of you that you show him, is comforting. Warm despite how cold you appear. It’s a comfort he didn’t imagine having…ever in his life—especially a dreary life like his. But he soaks up this—you—as much as he can.

When the game is over, you’re elated and giggling, tucked into his side as he guides you through the drunken crowd. The moon is high in the sky, and it bathes your skin and makes you stand out in the crowd. You look up at him, smiling softly with a buzzed gaze that’s two beers deep.

“Did you have fun? Not bad for your first American game?”

“You screamed the entire time,” he teases, chuckling at the way you gape up at him and then sneer before turning away. He throws his arm around your shoulders, using the touch as a safe territory to keep his hands to himself, and pulls you closer.

You demand cotton candy which he indulges in as well before you both part ways with Rene and Shiu. The journey back to your apartment is a quiet one. As Toji drives, the warm July air fills the car, mingling with the faint strains of classic rock playing on the radio. Toji watches with flickering glances as you hum along, your eyes closed and the breeze wafting through your curls loose around your shoulders.

Something inside of him rattles. Whatever it is, it’s long-forgotten and buried deep within him, surrounded by cobwebs and dust that have accumulated over time since that dark day years ago.

*** You ***

From the short journey of his car to inside of your apartment, you repeat to yourself that you have to take this slow, for your own peace of mind.

You keep the most intimate parts of yourself locked away and only those who are worthy of you have a copy of the key. But somehow, and in such a short time, Toji has stolen a copy for himself and slotted the key into the door. But thankfully, the door is caught against the wall, hinges rusted over and ungiving.

You have to know more about him before you let him in to look at those parts of you. If you jump the gun and give him more so soon and end up hurt, it will throw you into a depth of pain that you promised yourself to never touch again if you could help it.

“You have a good time?”

Toji’s voice breaks the silence, his arms folding tightly across his chest, betraying the restlessness in his hands. His messy black locks, tousled by the late July humidity, partially hide his emerald gaze, which flickers briefly to meet your own before darting away.

Your socked feet pad across the hardwood floor, closing the space between you, and your head slowly tilts to look at him. Despite his façade of composure, his scar curves against his lips in a slight twist, twitching as he tries not to frown. Thin eyebrows pitch down in frustration, and you catch the way his fingertips drum against the skin of his biceps. He’s fidgety—nervous. Is he upset with himself? Ashamed that he couldn’t take you out on a proper date with dinner and a movie like everyone else expects?

Hopefully, he will learn that you go against the grain of proper in so many ways.

“I had a great time,” you confess softly, noticing the subtle relaxation in his stance at your words. The thrumming of his fingers stop, the tension in his shoulder fades. “You wanted to take me out and I let you. That all you want from me?”

He’s such an expressive man.

His face twists, perturbed by your bluntness and the prospect of delving into emotional territory. “I told you already that I want more.”

His declaration sends a fluttering through your heart that is reminiscent of the feeling you had when he surprised you with a slice of yellow cake. It’s comforting, and you want to lean into it. But it’s not enough to overwhelm you. You’re still in your right mind and still aware of your expectations even though he captivates you.

You press your finger into the firmness of his chest, hard so that the muscle pillows around your digit. The gaze you shoot up at him is unyielding, serious, and menacing enough that he straightens his spine just a little.

“Listen to me, because I’m only going to say this one more time. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. I’m not saying things need to be serious with us but…you need to show me that you mean it.”

As you speak, you assess Toji, who shows no signs of amusement or ignorance. His posture is rigid, his back ramrod straight, and his deep green gaze locked onto yours.

“That night we had was great. I won’t deny that but…I won’t compromise my expectations and I don’t tolerate bullshit. I’m not going to let you fuck me just because we did it before. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

You relish in the way his eyes widen, contemplating your words and the severity beneath them before his face smooths back into its usual cool demeanor. He unfolds his arms from his chest, and you curse inwardly at the way you immediately watch his shirt stretch across defined pectorals.

“You know you’re a feisty little thing.”

Heat from the way he speaks and annoyance at his lack of attention flare within you like wildfire. You open your mouth to yell, to bark at him to be serious, but the sound of his laughter extinguishes that fire inside of you instantly.

He doesn’t offer an apology for his comment and you don’t need one. You know you’re feisty and steadfast. It’s the only way you can function around men to survive, to stay afloat and still have a grasp of who you are. And if Toji couldn’t handle it, you definitely wouldn’t have slept with him or entertained a date that you thoroughly enjoyed.

“I’ll try,” he finally offers, voice soft but filled with conviction. Normally the small remark would offend you, but surprisingly coming from Toji, it’s enough.

Observing his behavior today and a little bit two weeks ago, you note his acceptance of your quirks and individuality—at least the bits you allow him to see. He marveled at the amount of food you ate and joined alongside you. He let you babble to him about every single player on your favorite team and how many championships they had won. He let you display your strength in your voice and personality, didn’t try to control or overshadow you like so many other past experiences you’ve had before learning how to rule the men in your life.

He let you be yourself.

And that thought makes you finally open your mouth to give him something he had asked for earlier, something you had previously denied despite your own desires.

“You can have your kiss,” you offer with a shrug, feigning nonchalance even though your heart picks up in speed as the implication registers on his face. “So you better do it right.”

It’s an invitation that he snatches away from your imaginary hands and tears open with thick fingers, greedy and growling with finality.

His sharp gaze traces the contours of your body, unabashed in its appraisal, leering at the pieces of skin visible to him. You know he’s been looking at you all day, but his observation now is intense, heavy and without reservation and you’re fumbling from the sudden rush of longing that pumps hot through your veins.

Toji inches closer, your hands instinctively find their way to his chest, his towering presence overwhelming your small stature. His height ignites an evolutionary desire in you that makes your mouth water, makes your cunt pulse with need beckoning for him to fill the mold he left inside two weeks ago. You’re still not used to climbing up the summit of him, so the air is thin once more, pulling the oxygen from your lungs and stuttering in your chest when a large hand cups the side of your neck and tilts your face up to him like an offering.

When his lips slide against yours, your fingers in his shirt tighten. His touch singes the ends of your nerves, boils the blood in your veins that pump fast throughout your body. Your skin is burning, searing when muscular arms hoist you up and wrap your legs around his thick waist before your ass is sliding on the cold marble of your kitchen counter, your lips still sealed against his.

There’s so much of this that feels like that night at your uncle’s. So much and yet not enough.

He drowns you with his touch, digs his fingers into the plump flesh of your thighs before yanking you, hard and with unforgiving impatience, closer to his body. The fabric of your jeans rubs too harsh against your wet panties, digs against the sensitivity of your clit and you repress the insatiable yearning to roll your hips against his.

Toji’s large hands slide up your body, traversing the mesh of your jersey that hugs you before cupping each side of your face again to tilt you sharper in the way he wants. Blue raspberry from the cotton candy you both indulged in after the game coats his tongue that licks your bottom lip in a silent request for entrance, and you grant him access, surrendering a whimper into his mouth as his tongue slides sinfully against yours. Tastebuds kiss your own, slide against them with whispered promise of satisfaction if you just relax and melt further into him. Just a little.

But you can’t, god you can’t.

You’re losing control and you have to stay strong. You have to stay above the waters of logical thinking even though you’re sinking with every stroke of his tongue, with every sweet, hot breath into your mouth, with every inch of flesh that your fingers dig into his chest because you need more. More than a kiss, more than what he’s offering, and you know he can give it to you. Toji can pull you into the inferno he’s raging inside of your body until your clothes are scorched off and his skin is sliding against yours sweaty, sticky, and undulating with every roll of his hips.

But he doesn’t give you more. He doesn’t pull you further into that fire.

The intensity of his kiss dies down slowly, his lips pulling away from yours with a wet smack as you pant along with him. Toji kisses your lips once, then twice, nips your bottom lip to seal everything he’s given before smirking down at you. Too devilish and arrogant and you don’t have a working brain cell in your head right now to correct him. His hands that cradle your cheeks slide down to your upper arms, giving them a gentle squeeze before he speaks.

“You still gonna let me be nice to you?”

His words are an echo of that night, his own way of telling you that he’s here. That he wants more—that he wants to give you more. You just have to let him.

With your head still swimming and the pulsing between your legs refusing to calm, you want him to be more than nice right now. But remembering the boundaries you have set, you nod instead and sigh into him when he kisses you one last time, sweeping his blue raspberry-flavored tongue against yours before pulling away, acting as though it’s nothing, as though you’re not sweaty at the small of your back and trembling with desire.

“Lock the door for me,” he commands, words devoid of a questioning tone, but filled with a sense of security and protection that you lean into.

“O-okay,” you manage to breathe, your heart slowing back into sinus rhythm, only to jump again as he places one final kiss on your lips, then your nose. You frantically bat him away before you lose consciousness, because any more and you’ll drag him into your room and disregard everything you said five minutes ago.

 You watch him saunter away, pull his keys from his pocket, and twirl them in his hand before winking. “I’ll text you.”

It sounds so ridiculous coming from his lips, from a grown man who looks as if he doesn’t even know what a cellphone is, let alone a text message.

But it still makes your heart jump all the same.

You can only nod in response because your throat is too dry and heavy in the back of your throat with each swallow you take. You follow him to the door and roll your eyes at his annoying smirk before he closes the door behind him, casting your apartment into silence.

Your fingers wobble as they turn the locks of your door into place. You’re lightheaded, brain flitting through salacious memories of what you both did weeks ago and what you could easily be doing now.

You throw your back against the door and sag to the floor with an annoyed sigh.

*** Toji ***

Unknown: There’s another contract for you if you’re interested. Message me back and I’ll send you details.

Toji: I’m interested. Send me what you have.

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[mysteria157]

Those Moments In Between

Moment One: An Old Flame

Rating: Explicit 

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: fluff, profanity, explicit sexual content (whole lotta smut, I’m talking: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, creampie…lol you get it).

Word Count: ~6k

Summary: When Nanami has no choice but to work overtime, you bring him dinner as a surprise. But you unexpectedly find his ex-girlfriend already keeping him company. 

Takes place a few weeks after Chapter 15 of It Had To Be You!

Notes: I had this idea way back when I wrote chapter 15 weeks ago and I finally made it a reality last night LOL. I don’t have a beta reader, so sometimes there may be a mistake or two. I have a habit of being way too detailed when I write, and that includes smut. So hopefully you enjoy it! 

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome! Happy reading!

Divider: @sweetxmelody

Those Moments In Between Masterlist | Moment Two TBD...

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

MINORS DNI

Nanami knows better.

He knows that his ex-girlfriend, Pia, is just as devious as she was when they were in undergrad. 

When they were younger and together, she gave sweetness and tender love that made Nanami stick around a bit longer than he should have. Though they had nothing in common and she was far too outgoing, she helped him embrace many different things that were normally out of his comfort zone.

She taught him how to express public displays of affection in his own way. She taught him how to express what he felt when it came to romantic love. 

He was grateful for it. Truly.

Indirectly, her personality only made him realize just how ill-suited they were for one another despite her good intentions.

Pia was spiteful to those who disagreed with her, disrespectful to those who did not have the same values as her, and outlandishly rude to those who came on to Nanami. She covered it all up with smiles, jokes as a means of apology, and an innocent glint in her eyes that Nanami at the time, didn't have the experience to see through.

Gojo had tried to warn him, year after year.

But he was young--his disdain for Gojo was five thousand times more intense than it is now--so Nanami treated everything that fell from Gojo's lips as a ploy to annoy anyway. 

Nanami remained oblivious to her behavior, caught in the haze of young love, until their final year of college.

That haze had gradually become easier to sift through. The complaints from his friends finally began to register in his mind. Then, one day between classes, a significant moment allowed him to finally blink away the fog.

Every action that he had once dismissed, enticed by the flutter of her lashes and the touch of her lips, rose to the surface from an ocean of naivety--loud and unfiltered.

He despised himself for having to come to the painful realization that Gojo had been right all along. 

Nanami allowed Gojo to mock him for a week before reverting to his habit of telling him to shut up unless he had something meaningful to contribute to their conversations. 

Despite feeling embarrassed and heartbroken, he cut ties--clean and simple--moved on with his life, and never heard from her again.

Until now, that is, as she is currently in Nakameguro for a project to market her wine enterprise. She specifically chose his company to assist in expanding her business in the Japanese market, and he despises every minute of it. 

Pia clearly wants to make up for lost time because she goes to great lengths to be close to him. 

She has a habit of discreetly slipping into the elevator just before it closes, coincidentally finding herself alone with Nanami every time. With a simple smile and a polite greeting, she faces the front and they ride in silence, but with every encounter, she subtly edges closer and closer to him. 

Like clockwork, without fail, she makes a point to peek into his office every morning, disregarding his attempt to keep the door closed. She greets him, extends an invitation to lunch—an invitation he consistently declines—and continues with her day. 

Being a recluse by nature, he rarely leaves his office except for coffee runs to the breakroom or when Yuji relentlessly calls for his presence. But with Pia’s presence, he can hardly focus when she’s around. He refuses to engage in conversation or give her an opening to pursue him romantically. Because he knows she will. So now he makes Yuji come to him and will bring his own coffee from home. 

He chooses not to confide in you about his struggles.

You had only met her once, but it was more than enough. Because to you, Pia is overwhelmingly beautiful, with a well-traveled life and wealth. You are an amateur ceramic artist with modest savings, a mother that you can’t stand, and a body that had recently been stretched and marked by childbirth.

You thought Kento deserved better—deserved someone like Pia. 

You were grappling with the overwhelming responsibilities of taking care of Ulani, trying your best to navigate through postpartum depression in a healthy way, and coming to terms with a body that seemed alien to you.

So the sight of Pia for the first time, radiant and flaunting a badge of honor for dating Nanami, did nothing but throw you into a deep pit of insecurity.

Kento lifted you out of that dark place, demonstrated to you again—without fail—how devoted he was to you then and always.

He made it abundantly clear that he was yours. 

He’s determined to never make you feel unsure of yourself again. 

So it's not a big deal. She’s just a nuisance that he has to dodge for the next week. 

Just another week until she goes back to Italy where she—hopefully—will never return.

What’s the worst that can happen?

It turns out, a lot.

He tries to stay one step ahead, deliberately exchanging a brief greeting with her in the lobby to prevent her from slithering into his office. He even waits until the office is deserted, and the day is nearly over before stepping into the elevator. 

He doesn’t know how he got out scot-free, but Friday rolls around and he thinks that he just might pull this off.

But Yaga chooses today of all days to ask Nanami to stay behind to consolidate a few contracts that only Nanami—unfortunately—has access to. In normal circumstances, Nanami would decline and suggest pushing it off until Monday.

It’s even more unfortunate because he has plans tonight. He wants to help you make dinner and spend time with his daughter and he shouldn’t even have to think about excuses because he hates overtime. But, the consolidation is due Monday, and he wants to get it done now so that he can avoid the hassle later on.

You don’t sound upset when he calls you to break the news. Your usually calm voice is slightly downcast with a gentle sigh that you think he can’t hear.

“I guess it’s rare so I shouldn’t be mad but,” you complain weakly, your words tinged with a slight whine that makes Nanami smirk to himself. “I made Katsudon.” 

He groans, mouth instantly watering at the mere thought. 

“I’ll be home as soon as I can, my love. I promise.” 

You grumble a reply that makes him chuckle, a tender sound resonating deep in his chest as he listens to you tell him that you love him before hanging up the phone.

***

It’s seven o’clock and he’s fighting a migraine. But he’s almost done, and he’s determined to finish the last stack of contracts that require organizing before he can make his way home to you and Ulani.

As he pens his signature on the bottom of one contract, there’s a knock on his office door, prompting him to invite them in—assuming it’s merely the janitor since everyone else on the floor left hours ago. 

That’s all he thinks to himself; he focuses his attention on yet another clause, preparing to initial his name on the side when everything comes to a screeching halt. 

Because standing before him isn’t the janitor—it’s Pia.

Pia, clad in a tight black dress that not only defies workplace etiquette but also starkly contrasts the one she wore earlier in the day.  

Earlier that day, he followed her every movement as she got into her car and drove away, silently relieved that he could finally relax. Yet, here she is; her dark brown wavy hair hanging over her shoulder in a manner far too seductive for his comfort, and black heels clutched in her hands instead of adorning her feet.

It takes him only a second to assess how quickly he can maneuver past her without a word. He will take the steps if he has to, or maybe he can grab the remaining contracts and finish the rest at home and—

“Gojo always mentions how you never stay late anymore, so I’m surprised to see you here,” she purrs, her Italian accent grating against his ears, exacerbating his throbbing migraine behind his eyes. Her lust-filled, indecent intentions taint her dark brown eyes, reinforcing the strong urge within him to leave, quickly. 

He’s not the type of man to belittle a woman’s appearance because they all possess their own beauty. His mother hammered that among other things about the respect of women deep into his skull before he hit puberty. But he’s well-mannered enough to acknowledge beauty and let the line be drawn there—because other women aren’t you, and he doesn’t have a wandering eye. 

He never has and he never will.

“Is there a reason why you are here, Pia?” he questions, discreetly binding the stack of contracts together so he can swiftly grab them along with his blazer and push her out of the way if he has to. “Your project finished at the end of the business day, so I assumed you would be on your way back to Italy.”

She scoffs a deep and guttural noise that makes Nanami’s stomach twirl in distaste and intensifies the pounding behind his eyes. “You know exactly why I’m here, Kento. Don’t be dull. You never were back then, and you aren’t now.”

His stomach churns, the knots tightening with each passing moment between them. The tension becomes unbearable, culminating in a swift rise from his seat as he retrieves his blazer behind his large, deep red chair.

“You need to leave,” he demands, his voice devoid of the polite courtesy he had extended to her during her visit. He tucks the contracts beneath an arm, grabs his car keys, and makes for the door—but she’s quick to sidestep so her frame blocks his path. 

Irritation surges within him, an emotion that others—excluding you—are keen to elicit when they begin to waste his time. 

“Pia, please move out of the way so that I can go home.”

She arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow, adding to the torment coursing through his stomach. “So you’re saying you don’t even want to talk? It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, and you’ve done nothing but avoid me during my entire stay.” Her whiny, petulant tone and childlike frown only serve to trigger flashbacks to times when she didn’t get her way, intensifying the deep divide that caused their separation.

“And you don’t understand the reason why?” he retorts, irritation heavier and thick in his mouth. A frown etches itself onto his lips, and his patience dissipates in the tense air encircling them. 

A noise in the lobby—a noise that implies someone can be listening—makes his heart stammer in his chest and the hairs on the back of his neck rise. 

While she has an agenda, he does not. He refuses to allow others to lose respect for him in this office, thinking he indulges in infidelity during his free time when that couldn’t be further from the truth. He couldn’t care less about others’ opinions, except when it involves you and your relationship—that’s where he draws the line. 

Unaffected by his sarcastic remark, she delicately places a perfectly manicured hand on his chest. He’s quick to react, catching her wrist in a way that makes his blazer fall to the floor, pulling her hand away from him as his body begins to shake in frustration.

 “I don’t know where you’ve gotten the impression that I want anything with you, but I won’t be entertaining it. What we had was a long time ago and it won’t ever be reignited again. Try your best to understand that,” he states firmly.

“But—” she begins to protest.

“Enough, Pia. Leave. Now.” 

He isn’t asking nicely anymore, his head pounding, and the decision to simply push her out of the way is made. Just as he prepares to do so, the door swings open, and the person he longs to see the most but also wishes wasn’t here right now, rushes in.

“Ken, I thought I could bring you dinner and—” you stop mid-sentence, words wedged in your throat as you take in the scene in front of you. You’re holding a Tupperware container, the steam inside condensing along the edges.

Nanami with papers under one arm and the other dropping from a delicate wrist to flop down at his side, his hair disheveled from hours of musing, his face clearly disturbed. And Pia, beautiful and ethereal as usual as she whips around to look at you. 

Since that first day you met her, you haven’t encountered Pia again. And Kento’s unwavering loyalty and trust have provided no reason to entertain the thought of her. 

However, Nanami’s stiff stature, Pia’s tight dress that reveals a bit too much in the front, and the stiletto heels swinging from her finger in one hand make it abundantly clear to you why she is here. 

At seven o’clock at night.

With no one else around.

You want to shy away from the implication, to fend off your surprise with a shy chuckle, and let the poisonous current of insecurity draw you away like that time before. But Nanami had skillfully put those doubts to rest weeks ago. 

Now you’re just irritated.

“Pia? What are you doing here?” You keep your tone light, masking the annoyance bubbling inside you. Pia’s earlier sultry gaze has vanished, replaced by widened eyes and hands smoothing her already unwrinkled dress, anxiously. “Kento told me the project ended a few hours ago. Aren’t you flying back to Italy soon?”

She fumbles, her rose-tinted lips curling as she searches for something to say, gripping her heels tighter in her hand. It’s reminiscent of watching a child scrambling for an excuse after being caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

Nanami remains silent, astonished. In the past, any other woman daring to breathe his air while Pia was present would have been met with scathing words and threats. But now, that Pia is desperately trying to produce an excuse for her late presence within a workplace when she she should be on a flight home.

“She was just leaving, love,” Nanami interjects, trying his best to make the situation as simple as it can be. Pia agrees, blushing and nodding, hastily slipping her heels back on with hands seemingly covered in sweat.

Watching her struggle to secure her heels, her fingers slipping on the buckle, reignites a surge of confidence deep within you. The once persistent insecurity in her presence now feels like a mere joke. In this moment, she becomes the joke. 

And you want to savor every minute of it.

The next words spill from your mouth, impossible to contain. You wiggle the small Tupperware container in your hands, gesturing towards her and offering a shy but satisfied smile.

“I was just bringing my husband dinner,” you chuckle airily, the lie slipping from your lips with ease. You relish the reaction from them both. Pia’s hands slip on her heel strap, causing her to stumble. Nanami struggles to contain his composure, eyes wide as saucers, his breath caught in his throat as your words ring in his ears like a piercing siren.

“Kento is the only one on this floor, it’s awfully late and I doubt you would have left earlier without saying goodbye. Surely you—” you pause, pretending to be taken aback before leveling an accusatory gaze at her. She looks up from her hunched position, hands still fumbling with the straps of her heels, her eyes wide and beautifully tan skin appearing pale. You’re not one for pettiness, but the delight from the sight of her struggling courses through your veins. “Surely you’re not here with the intention to do something else, are you?” 

“No!” she quickly retorts, her voice both loud and tinged with a hint of nervousness that makes the corner of your lip twitch. “No of course not—”

“So what are you doing here?” you cut her off with a narrowing of your eyes, repeating your question from earlier with a touch less feigned innocence, your tone slightly more serious and impatient. 

“L-leaving actually! Just wanted to say goodbye to Kento before my flight in the morning,” she stammers, now standing three inches taller, maintaining an air of elegance and grace even as her embarrassment paints her cheeks red.

She hastily bids Nanami farewell—a choked and tight goodbye—, a lopsided and anxious smile directed at you, and stumbles once more as she hurriedly exits the room, a snort of amusement escaping your lips as she trips before disappearing from your sight.

You close the door behind her, shutting away her presence for good.

The room falls into silence, Nanami’s face turning a vibrant shade of red that forces you to suppress your laughter with every ounce of effort you can muster.

“Love, I can explain—,” he begins, but you promptly cut him off, a giggle escaping despite your best attempts to hold it back. 

You know he would never do anything. Nanami would probably take infinite shifts of overtime instead of letting a woman who was not you touch him. In fact, you heard the entire conversation before you rushed in, and it makes your heart flutter with love that is already overflowing for him. 

“It’s not funny,” he grumbles.

But it’s so funny to watch him squirm, his face burning even more and his movements awkward as he clutches the bundle of disheveled contracts in his hand. His expressions of frustration and his furrowed brow only serve to ignite a warmth in your stomach. 

You love to tease him. And now you’ve been given the perfect opportunity to make him sweat.

“There’s no need to explain, Ken. I’m just messing with you,” you reassure him, taking his free hand and gently pulling him back to his desk. Turning to face his still-nervous figure, you retrieve the papers from his grasp and place them neatly on his large mahogany desk. 

“I heard the entire conversation. I am curious though,” you begin, pressing him down into his chair. He’s silent as he watches you push the chair back a little, so you have room to stand between him and his desk. “What do you think she would have done if I hadn’t come in time?”

“Absolutely nothing because I don’t—” he starts, but his words are abruptly cut off by the touch of your hand gliding against the fabric of his chest. Unlike Pia’s touch, your fingertips radiate heat and beckon him in a way that has his cock twitching in his slacks. His heart skips a beat as he watches your own manicured nails circle the buttons of his dress shirt before undoing them quickly. “We can’t—”

“Why?” you interrupt, your voice low and hot, instantly drying up his throat. Your fingertips dance along the exposed skin of his chest, gently teasing him as your nail flicks against a pink nipple before trailing down between the contours of his abs. You tap your fingers along the downy hair that trails under his slack and his stomach bunches in response, twitching from the stimulation, his heart skipping and his throat tightening slowly. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

He doesn’t. God, he doesn’t, and the words ‘no’ are out of his mouth before he can stop them, giving you his consent even though he’s embarrassed out of his mind. His migraine becomes an insignificant thought, the pulsing from earlier falling into a slow ebb, eclipsed by the escalating desire coursing through his veins. 

Nanami has never been the type of man to do this sort of thing. While he likes to be inside you anytime he can, he cherishes the privacy that safeguards both himself and you, more. 

But he can’t lie to himself that the thought of something happening in this office with you hasn’t crossed his mind multiple times—especially when you used to work together.

The sound of you undoing his belt buckle has his heart racing, thumping loud and heavy in his chest and his face is on fire as he watches you release him from the confines of his pants, his cock already hard and leaking. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down and finding it difficult to contain your own desire from the sight of him. The area between your legs throbs as you trace your eyes down a cock that you’re intimately familiar with. Warm and achingly heavy, leaking with anticipation and pleading for your touch. His abs tense with a sharp intake of breath as you wrap your hand around him, a pleasurable hiss escaping his throat as he watches you stroke him languidly. 

You press your free hand into the arm of his chair, leaning in until your lips are mere inches apart. Inhaling his ragged breaths, you admire the way his deep brown eyes blow out, leaving only a ring of burnt umber for you to gaze into. 

Your grip on him has his mind foggy, desire overtaking any rational thoughts that he would normally use right about now. 

But you’re so good. 

You’re curling your wrist with every upward stroke just the way he loves and his abs bunch with every jolt of pleasure that zips inside of him.

He has to touch you, has to get his hands on you in some way to ground himself, and he instinctively reaches out for you when suddenly you tsk, pulling back slightly to create more distance between your lips.

“No touching.”

Oh.

You never deny him when you’re both like this. You always want his hands on you. The fact that you’re now denying him, gazing at him with a dangerous look in your eyes, shocks him. And it arouses him to a degree that makes him choke on a breath. 

He sags back into his chair, gasping for breath when your hands trail down to cup his balls. He digs his fingers into the chair’s armrests, scratching red leather, and he’s desperate to keep himself from cumming too soon.

“Did you—did you lock the door?” he manages to gasp, grasping onto any shred of coherent thought he has left.

You tilt your head in confusion, gaze at him with an indifferent stare, and then shrug nonchalantly before sagging down to your knees in front of him. The sight makes his toes curl in his expensive Chukka boots.

The rational part of his mind urges him to get up and check the door. Just get up and make sure the door is at least locked before anything else—but then his thoughts are short-circuiting and stuttering as your tongue slides wet up his shaft and you swallow him down to the base without a care in the world.

The back of his head slams against the cushioned chair as a surge of pleasure courses through his veins. You’re wet and sloppy, teasing him with your gaze as your mouth stretches from the thickness of him—and he’s struggling to hold on, struggling to keep his orgasm at bay even though it’s right there.

He tries to reach for you—tries to card his hands through your hair but you smack it away and glare at him with such a ferocity that he’s embarrassed for even attempting. 

Marketing templates. Morning traffic. A cold cup of coffee. 

He thinks of everything he can to resist the warmth in his stomach and the coil tightening along his spine; because you suck his cock in a way that makes him fidget in his chair, humming and gurgling into his ears in a wicked melody that’s making him go insane.

You’re enjoying every second of this and it only makes him blush harder with just how exposed he is to you right now. The mere weight of his cock in your mouth and the slightly salty taste of him makes your panties damp, your cunt pulsating and aching to be filled. 

And you’ll make sure it happens.

So you patiently wait until he’s panting harshly, his grip on the arm of his chair growing tighter and tighter. You wait until that crazed look dances in his eyes—the one you’re so familiar with right before he cums. And right when he’s on the cusp, you pull away. 

He exhales hard and sinks into his chair almost in relief as the band inside of him relaxes slightly, desperately trying to catch his breath and hissing as the cold air of his office wraps around his wet cock.

“Pia really did have a plan, didn’t she?” you playfully tease, standing to card your fingers through his blonde locks. Your fingertips glide across the faint traces of sweat, your hand moving along with the shake of his head in response to you, his gaze unfocused.

You kick off your shoes, hook your thumbs into the corner of your leggings, and slide them down and off your legs—his eyes following every inch of creamy brown skin that is revealed to him. 

You’re wearing an oversized sweater, a soft cashmere that he got you simply because he wanted, and it now covers your faint stretch-marked thighs. They are your battle scars, your own reminders of the journey your body underwent to grow and birthed the beautiful daughter you both have now.

His breath falters as he watches you gracefully perch on his large desk, placing your legs on top and bending your knees so your fuzzy sock-covered feet press against the rich mahogany. Leaning back on one arm, you effortlessly open your legs for him. His naturally narrow eyes widen at the sight of your white damp panties, and he longs to lick, suck, and slide his cock inside the very place they conceal.

The glint in your eyes is mischievous and taunting, delighting in the way he struggles to stay seated even as you slide one of your hands down into your panties.

“Can I—” he starts, but you cut him off.

“No.” 

You leave no room for argument and don’t offer anything else as you begin to circle your clit leisurely, arching into the touch as echoes of pleasure hum to life. It’s not long before you’re pushing your panties to the side to expose yourself to the open air. Your cunt throbs with desire when you hear Nanami groan softly under his breath. 

You’ve never been this bold, never entertained the thought of anything voyeuristic. But Nanami seems to awaken something within you, something you’re slowly embracing. He’s so shy about sex outside of the privacy of your home, and it only makes this more exciting that he’s even entertaining it now.

“Did she do this with you?” you ask him, your voice breathless as you sink two fingers into your wet cunt. The corner of Nanami’s eye twitches from the sight and you swallow down a giggle that threatens to escape. “Did she ever make you watch her while she touched herself?” 

You moan softly as you curl your fingers up as best as you can from your angle. Nanami’s fingers dig into the leather of his chair with barely contained restraint. 

“Answer me, Kento.”

“No. She didn’t.”

Satisfied with his answer, a sense of pride flaps in your chest, and you gleefully continue fingering yourself in front of him. It always takes you a while to get off with your fingers, so you use that as ammunition to watch Nanami squirm. 

You watch the way his exposed muscular pectorals move with his increasing breaths. You watch the way his cock twitches, hot and heavy against his stomach, leaking precum onto his abs. And you soak up the way he traces his eyes along every inch of you, leaving nothing without his attention.

When you finally cum, sharp and abrupt, he’s hanging on by a thread—ready to abandon your command to be still, yank you to him, and sink inside. 

He watches your cunt flutter around your fingers as you slowly come down from your high, gasping like an angel into the office air. Breathless, you stand on shaky legs and move to stand before him, lifting slick-covered fingers to his mouth which he readily opens without command, desperate to taste you any time he can. He groans softly against your fingers, eyes drooping, tongue sliding wet between your digits. The sight makes your cunt throb weakly, faint embers that had just died down, licking to life again.

You taste like everything to him, everything he wants and everything he needs.

But it’s not on the menu tonight.

You straddle his lap wordlessly and smack his hands away when he tries to wrap large hands around your waist. He swallows his frustration, yearning to touch you, yet willing to comply for the promise of more.

Using the remnants of your arousal between your legs, you coat him, stroking him enough to make sure you take him effortlessly, and then you guide him to your entrance and sink down to the hilt. The feel of him inside you is glorious, stretching you in the way you like that makes your cunt tremble to life around him, grateful for his presence once again. 

“Fuck,” he hisses—chokes with eyes squeezed shut, hand gripping the chair until it groans. You’re so wet, so fucking warm and tight that he’s shaking--practically trembling and swallowing a whimper as he fights the urge to grab your hips.

You didn’t need much to get used to him. You’re a masochist when he stretches you—you crave the way your cunt tenses from the intrusion, gripping him like a vice.

You’re a champ, enveloping him and giving him little time to acclimate before you’re bouncing on his cock with a finesse that would make any woman jealous.

You slide both hands into the hair at his nape and pull so that he cranes his neck back to gaze up at you. He’s slack-jawed, panting with breaths that tickle your lips, his eyes heavy with desire. 

“Did she ever fuck you like this, hmm? Come into your office when you would work long hours and ride you until you couldn’t see straight?” 

He can only shake his head ‘no’ in response, his throat too dry to speak, his lungs burning. He craves your touch, your lips on him, something to anchor him as he struggles to keep up. It’s the only way he can stay sane when the neurons in his brain are frying by the second. He begs wordlessly, groans deeply up into your mouth, pleading for anything.

And thankfully, you grant him a searing kiss. Your lips mold against his, tongues battling for dominance that he willingly surrenders to. His every thrust hits that perfect spot within you, brushing away hints of oversensitivity and bringing forth faint pleasure that makes you dig your hands into blond tresses and pull tight.

The pleasure caresses the insides of your thighs and tightens the muscles of your legs. Every brush of your clit against the skin of his abs shoots electricity throughout your cunt and up to the base of your spine, igniting a simmering fire that begins to heat deep pools of lava that reside there.

You pull away from his lips with a harsh moan, gasping into the warm air of his office, riding him harder to the point that the legs of his chair begin to squeak.

He knows you well. He knows how you get demanding and delirious and incoherent when you ride him, and he loves to count the seconds until that switch in your brain goes off. And it’s not even a second later when—

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good. So, so good,” you moan against the skin of his lips. “Fucking me just the way I like Ken.”

He watches every move you make, tracing his eyes over the contours of your face and the way your loose curls cling to creamy brown cheeks.

His eyes roll when he picks up your whispered chants. You’re a woman possessed and you take what you want—when you want. And he gives and gives with every yes, yes, more Ken, you’re so good, please, please, please yes!

Your pupils are blown and glazed over with desire, but suddenly your brows furrow in frustration. 

“She walked in here in a tight dress and high heels looking to get you in the same position that I have you now. But at the end of the day, you’re mine.”

There’s not an ounce of coyness in your words. You’re so serious, firm, and unyielding that it makes him shudder, a groan sliding from his parted lips, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and—

“Look at me,” you command, voice low, panting from exertion and the feel of your body beginning to draw tight with embers of a powerful orgasm. His eyes roll back without hesitation, locking with yours. “Unless—unless some other circumstance tears us apart, you—you are mine. Pia can have all the money and fame, but she will never have you. I do.”

“Yes,” he whispers, the word tumbling from his lips without faltering. His hips struggle to keep up and his thighs begin to stiffen as pleasure begins to curl deliciously so that his hands dig into the chair. His fingers slip against the leather, sweaty and tingling.

“You’re the father of my child.”

“Yes,” he chants again, breathless and quivering as the rubber band along his spine grows taught, stretching and shaking from the tension.

“You sleep next to me. You kiss me. You fuck me.”

“Yes, only you—only you.”

You tremble from his words, satisfaction oozing like hot thick globs along your skin. “That’s right, Kento,” you purr as your hips begin to roll against him, your clit carrying currents of pleasure through your veins, that pool of lava at the base of your spine boiling and rising to the brim.

“Please,” he whispers, his plea pulling you from your desire-induced haze. You look down at him, admire the flush of his cheeks, the warmth of his breath against the collarbone of your sweater, the sweat that beads along his hairline. “Please.”

“Please what?” you tease, trying to maintain a playful demeanor even though your hips are beginning to ache from overuse. You come to a stop on top of him, your breaths mingling together.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, always gentle and caring, even when he’s bursting from the seams. You love him so fucking much.

“Will you make me cum?”

“Always,” he responds without hesitation, his words filled with conviction. You lean in, pressing your lips against his, savoring the affection he willingly gives you. When you pull away, you brush thick blonde locks from his forehead, exposing more of his sharp features that will never fail to make your heart race.

“Then touch me, Ken,” you whisper, your voice laced with desire and anticipation.

Without wasting a moment, he swiftly lifts you in his arms, his cock still nestled inside as he carries you towards his desk.

Your breath catches as you stare up at him, the sound of papers scattering to the floor filling the air. He pulls your sweater up, revealing every inch of your faintly stretch-marked belly, before tugging down a cup of your bra, heady eyes watching as one of your breasts spills from its confines. 

He’s too fast. You fumble for words and let out a surprised yelp when he yanks your waist toward the edge of the desk. He presses your knees as close to your chest as you will allow, and then he slams into you once—and then twice before picking up a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

He devours you, tongue flicking and swirling wet and dripping around your exposed nipple as he pounds into you unabashedly, the desk squeaking and groaning from his efforts.

All bravado that you had earlier splinters away with each smack of his muscular hips against you, the skin of his abs brushing against your clit deliciously, coaxing moan after moan from your lips. His tongue flicks your nipple again before he bites the hardened bud, and your cunt flutters—clenches around him, your thighs beginning to twitch even though they’re pressed to your chest.

“I’m all yours. Always yours,” he whispers against your lips, blonde tresses gliding against your cheeks.

You hope there’s no one on this floor, or that no one has decided to come back for something because the last thing they need to hear is Nanami Kento, Director of Strategic Partnerships, railing his girlfriend on his over-priced, too-large mahogany desk.

You can barely breathe, your moans growing in pitch, the sound of skin on skin echoing through his office, your hands sliding up to dig fingers into the skin of his back. You don’t even have the chance to tell him you’re close. 

The stroke of him inside you, the slap of his skin against your bundle of nerves, and the feel of his mouth trailing along the sweaty column of your neck with a deep and heavy cum for me baby breaks the seal inside of you.

The lava boils over—pools along your bones, hot and delicious and caressing every nerve ending within you, your cunt squeezing him without remorse. You can’t help the loud moan that shakes from your lips, growing in pitch when the pleasure seems to spike and overheat you in oversensitivity, your entire body tingling and shaking like an exposed nerve.

Nanami takes every ounce of pleasure you offer. Everything, every part of you is precious—treasured in a way that no one else will ever be able to comprehend. He takes every breath, every hitch in your throat, every droplet of sweat on your skin, every whimper and moan and scratch of your nails against him. He savors it all—needs it to survive, to know that you have chosen him, that you want him, that you love him.

You’re the only woman who makes Pia tremble and stumble over her words. You are a force to be reckoned with, and he knew that the moment you snapped at him when you first met. You’re fierce in the way you love, strong with the words you say, and so fucking beautiful that he cant help but feel proud of just how threatened Pia was by the sight of you.

Those words you spoke confidently to her have played like a record in his head since you forced him into his chair.

“I was just bringing my husband some dinner.”

My husband.

My husband.

He’s thought about it, so many fucking times. And he swears it will happen. Soon.

One day you’ll be his wife.

His wife.

His wife.

His thoughts come to a sudden halt because he’s cumming, catching him off guard, that rubber band snapping in half, pleasure yanking from the base of his spine and pulling a harsh groan from his chest as he spills inside of you.

His hands slip from behind your knees and smack onto the wood of his desk and you wrap your legs around his waist as you both regain your breath. He’s putty against you, melted and loose and molding against every crevice of you as he takes in your intoxicating scent. Lilac from your body wash, shea butter from your lotion, and a hint of cooking grease that wafted onto your skin when you made dinner.

Your fingers lovingly comb through his sweaty hair, your legs blissfully achy, your cunt satisfied and throbbing, and your heart coming to normal sinus rhythm in your chest.

“Ome is probably wondering where I am,” you finally speak, breaking the tranquil silence of his office. “She offered to watch Ulani when I left.” Nanami hums against you, a low and gravelly sound that’s typical of him when he’s ready to go to sleep. “Bring the rest of the contracts home. No more overtime.”

As if he would even entertain the thought of being in this office a moment longer. “Okay,” he agrees, pressing his lips to your neck. He still has his arms around you, still connected to you despite having softened inside you minutes ago. 

But you don’t mind. You cherish these moments with him, holding them dear in your heart, knowing that each one is a gift.

Because you’re the only one who can revel in the way he needs you, the way he craves having his hands on you, the way he murmurs his adoration into your skin. And you love every bit of it. You love him.

“Will she be back?” you ask, a hint of hesitance in your tone.

He shakes his head, groaning softly as you scratch that spot behind his ear. “No. Never.”

“She better not,” you jest, an eyebrow lifting to the ceiling, gazing at no one. “If she pulls shit like that again, there won’t be a happy ending for you.”

He barks out a laugh against your neck, lifting his head to take in your blissed-out form. Fatigue weighs heavy on your eyes, your lashes delicately curled, your hair spread out on his desk to make you look like the most otherworldly thing he has—will ever see. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

He kisses you tenderly once and then twice, before resting his head against your chest, the soft cashmere of your sweater caressing his cheek. His eyes catch something on the corner of his desk.

The Tupperware of food that you brought still emits steam, a homemade Katsudon by your hands, just for him.

His heart thrums in his chest, full and filled with warmth.

His wife.

Soon.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think :)

#Nanami kento #Kento nanami #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami Kento x black reader #Nanami Kento x black fem reader #nanami x you #Nanami Kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #It Had To Be You #mysteria157 #anime x black reader #Nanami Kento fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk x black reader #Nanami Kento smut #jjk au #masterlist #It Had To Be You masterlist #nanami kento fluff #jjk fluff #jjk smut #Those Moments In Between #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #Baby Daddy Nanami Kento #one shot #black fem reader

[mysteria157]

Fic Masterlist

Pairing: Black Fem Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

Genre: Hitman AU, Romance, Thriller (sort of? I'm not James Patterson...)

CW: Profanity, Alcohol Use, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Medical Emergencies, Betrayal, Family and Childhood Trauma, Violence (He's a hitman so...), I'll have more detailed CWs with each chapter, MINORS DNI

Summary:

“I’m only going to say this one more time, Toji. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

His hands are so bloody, that if you ever knew the source, you wouldn’t want someone like him to try. He shouldn't be here, taking up so much of your time, asking for more. But he's selfish.

-or; Toji, a notorious hitman, moves to America for more money and a better life for his son. He didnt expect to sleep with you, let alone want more. When his dangerous life catches up to him, he takes on one final lucrative hit, but realizes this target has unseen connections hitting closer to home. Now he must navigate a perilous job while desperately keeping his criminal double life hidden from you.

Authors Notes: Hello! After rewriting the plot, I'm finally comfortable enough to share this story. It's a continueation from Maneater, so while it is not necessary, reading Maneater as a prologue will definitely help set the tone for the story! This is my first attempt at writing something a little more heavy, so go easy on me.

As always: likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated. Happy reading!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, reupload or modify my work to other accounts and platforms. please ask before translating any of my works! If you find any of my work posted on other platforms besides ao3 and tumblr and it is NOT myself, please let me know.

| Twitter | Ao3| JJK Masterlist

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon

Header: made by myself with art from Pinterest

Chapters

Prologue: Maneater (One Shot) *Posted!*: A glimpse of how you and Toji meet for the first time. ~Plot that explores a little of reader's background and smut.~

Chapter One (Posted!): Despite the uncertainty of something new in your life, you say yes when Toji asks you out.

Chapter Two (Posted) Toji is cold and calculated with his hits, and beneath that hard exterior is a man with a dark past.

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #Toji Fushiguro x black reader #toji fushiguro x black fem reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #black fem reader #black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #mysteria157 #masterlist #anime x black reader #Toji Fushiguro fanfic #jjk fanfic #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro fluff #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #toji fanfic #toji smut #toji x reader #toji jjk #jujutsu toji #soft toji #jjk au #In Too Deep

[mysteria157]

Chapter 15

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~17.3k

CW: profanity, explicit sexual content, jealousy, postpartum coping

Summary: You and Nanami navigate through the first months of parenthood. Nanami gives you an amazing birthday gift. A surprising encounter with someone from Nanami’s past makes you unsure of yourself.

Notes: Getting close to the end, I’m so sad but proud that I’m almost done with this journey. Thank you to all who have been supportive so far. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

Previous Chapter | Ao3 | Next Chapter

It Had To Be You Masterlist

You were so incredibly lucky to have Kento by your side through the very messy beginnings of a new addition in your house. You both settled into an easy routine—or at least as easy as it could be—with Ulani. While her first month of life was spent being cherished, hugged, cooed at and loved, you and Kento’s first month with her could only be described as absolute hell.

She did what all newborns did; cry, eat incessantly, poop, and sleep. Four easy and mundane tasks all carried out in various intervals that you both had read about and mentally prepared for, but where blindsided with nonetheless.

You and Kento were thankful for all the help you could get.

Chiyo inserted herself immediately and every morning of that first week, she would silently let herself into the house with her spare key and pick up the living room, prepare you and Kento a small breakfast and make sure any clothes in the dryer were folded and put away. Even Santo helped by mowing your front lawn and backyard while Kento slept and grabbing groceries at night while Kento cleaned up and you fed Ulani and got her ready for bed.

They were all such small and easy things to do. So smelling caffeine free tea in the air every morning when you both crawled out of bed, eyeing the large plate of eggs and toast next to the heap of groceries on your kitchen counter, seeing a freshly cut lawn and the folded onesies and bibs on your couch, all of it had your heart growing ten times in size and Kento pulling his parents in a gentle hug when he could catch them in his spare time.

Though you both were working as a team, Kento would only stand for so much from you. He loved you, from the depths of his soul he did. But after catching you completely breaking down not even two weeks after giving birth, he had sworn to never make you feel alone.

You were overwhelmed, of course you were. You and Kento tried and failed to set a good schedule for Ulani and you suffered the consequences, especially at night. You had begun to feel the small dredges of anxiety and sadness lick up your legs night after night and day after day when Ulani would cry relentlessly and fight to latch on even when she was clearly hungry. You had been so tired, so achy and swollen, and so uncomfortable in your own fucking skin with a beautiful daughter that refused to eat or sleep when she was obviously begging for it.

You had tried, had forced yourself to take deep breaths in the nursery alone when Kento was busy with her, forced yourself to will away the tears that had already spilled down your cheeks. You were strong. You had to be. For her, for Kento, for your entire family. But no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop the thoughts of what if she stops breathing? What if she refuses to eat and she starves? What if you’re not doing this correctly? You’re doing it all wrong. 

A bad caretaker, a terrible person to watch over her, a horrible mother. 

The thoughts had you crumpling into the rocking chair in your daughter’s nursery and sobbing until you felt the warm and large hand of your boyfriend smoothing along your back and caressing the skin of your neck before pulling you into him.

And as you cried into his shirt and muttered quietly how useless you felt as a mother, he had vowed in that moment to never let you feel it again if he could help it. So, he made an appointment with Dr. Williams himself to evaluate you and get you on the proper course of addressing your baby blues. He created a schedule for you both to try to maintain and he encouraged you to take at least half an hour for yourself every single day. He refused to make you feel lesser than what you were, refused to let the natural course of thoughts after childbirth morph into something that would scar you further, and refused to make you feel like you were alone in all of this.

He didn’t entertain any of your protests of staying up later than what was necessary and convinced you—quite quickly—to let him take control at night. Before laying Ulani down to sleep, you breastfed her. When your alarm went off every three hours, you woke up to pump while Kento fed Ulani with a bottle and handled any changing.

At first you felt awful at the sight of his tall form disheveled and exhausted, blonde hair a mess on his head as he practically dragged his yawning and grumbling body to Ulani’s nursery. But being able to pump went so much quicker than breastfeeding her, and all thoughts of your regret washed away when you could immediately shut your eyes again and feel him crawl up against you an hour later.

You made up for it during the day by being the parent to wake Ulani and get her ready for the morning.

After that first week of Chiyo’s help, you used the free time before waking your daughter to pick up the house and cook a small breakfast for you and Kento before getting Ulani ready and going out for a walk with her grandmother. It helped the rampant thoughts that would occasionally flutter in your mind when the house was too quiet or when Ulani began to fuss. And being able to have Chiyo as a good resource, to hear her tell her own remedies and stories for how she took care of her own son as you both walked through the suburbs, it helped so much.

It was hectic, grueling, exhausting and messy. But god, where the results worth it. It was worth it during the first month of Ulani’s life to hear her begin to coo with everything that she did. It was worth it to watch her recognize you and Kento’s face a little bit more each day, her dark brown eyes shifting with the movement of her head as she looked when you both spoke to her. It was worth it to hear those coos get a little louder when you or he walked into the room. All of it was worth it when even on the days where nothing seemed to go right, the sight of her sleeping during naptime made each and every fear, frustration, and worry wash away almost immediately.

There were times when you thought about what your life would have looked like without Kento in it. How would things have panned out if you had never told him about the pregnancy? Where you be if he never showed up at Rory’s door that night, completely distraught with his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants as he asked you softly to be involved in some aspect of the pregnancy. You were sure you would have handled it all just fine. It would be five thousand times more difficult, but you had Ome and even Chiyo and Santo. You could have done it alone. But having Kento with you and knowing that not only did he care and love her, but you as well, it made it all so much better.

Even though his help was a godsend to you, there were days when you inserted yourself and took over with his share of tasks. After six months since Yu’s death, Kento was doing well. He didn’t shy away when you brought him up or when Kaya’s name flashed on his phone when she called. He didn’t try to change the subject when you brought up the bakery casually during a quick dinner. He was healing.

But there were days when he woke up and carried on quieter than usual. There were days when those brown eyes that usually brightened for you and Ulani held a small flicker of grief in them. There were days when he was…tired. And on those days, you made sure he ate. You made sure he held his daughter longer than usual to remind himself of the life he had been given. You made sure to take a shift at night where you fed and changed Ulani yourself and held him close to you when you crawled back into bed. You made sure on those days when the world was too much for him, that you told him whenever you could how happy you were that he was still trying. The road of grief would never be straight and narrow, but at least Kento had finally decided to walk on it.

That first month turned into three and a half. Your routine, while still a little unpredictable, had finally began to mesh into something comprehensible and fluid. You and Kento were practically coming apart at the seams from the passage of time.

In just the blink of an eye, she had changed drastically. Ulani slept a little bit longer at night and napped throughout the day. The thin wisps of light brown hair on her head had grown into a full head of hair, thick like her father’s but just as curly as yours. She had practically doubled her birth weight and was becoming more mobile, much to the weariness of you and excitement of your boyfriend. She was always reaching for something, always shaking her toys and babbling and screaming at anything she could look at or touch. While you loved every second of watching her grow, it was going by too fast. So, so fast.

After that first day of allowing your friends to meet her, you had kindly asked for a little space just to build a routine with her without any interruptions. But you were more than ready on your birthday when you had lifted the restriction of visitors and allowed Rory to walk inside of your house on a chilly October morning. He had chosen to wait a few days after you gave birth to let you rest and acclimate before meeting her and had of course taken to her immediately.

He pulled you into a hug as soon as you opened the front door of your house.

“Happy Birthday, honey. Oh, how I’ve missed you!” The excitement was radiating off of him in waves, his hold on you tight as he swayed you side to side, his retouched twists brushing against the skin of your cheek as he laughed against you. Well-known brown eyes shined down at you as he pulled away, white but slightly crooked teeth gleaming as he smiled and began to look around your house. “Where is she? Where is my grandniece?”

The grandniece in question, was babbling rather loudly on the floor of your living room. The coffee table had long ago been stored away and replaced with her playmats, toys, and a bouncer. You alternated her playmats to encourage her sensory intake and right now, she seemed so tiny against the splattering of leaves and trees of the mat she laid on. She was staring down at the bright shades of green and dark hues of blue when you both walked into the living room, her elbows weakly pushing her head and chest up from her growing core muscles as she babbled incoherently. Her distance with sight had increased and she was able to catch the shift of your foot when you walked into the room, her head pulling up further and eyes catching yours before she screeched happily at your presence, a gummy smile shooting your way.

The sound made your heart thump hard in your chest, pride and love thrumming through your veins as soon as the decibels pierced your ears. You smiled as you sagged onto the floor and then your stomach, Rory following your actions silently and keeping an even space between you and her. Ulani’s eyes studied yours, dark brown irises already beginning to pierce and silently decipher just like her damn father.

“Just talk normally.”

You smiled at her while speaking to Rory, your voice even and low as she took in your voice. He slowly pressed a hand onto a drawing of a large monstera on the mat, his brown skin a sudden contrast to the greens and blues she was already studying.

“You looked just like her when you were a baby. It makes me feel so old, but I’ve never been happier.” He wiggled his fingers on the mat as he spoke, chuckling deeply as she followed the movement and began to grasp at him immediately, her body wobbling as she tried to maintain the balance on her stomach.

Ulani grunted softly, the dusting of her light eyebrows furrowing with effort as she pushed her chest a little further onto the mat and used the tether of Rory to pull closer to him. He didn’t hesitate, softly scooping her into his arms and sitting up to rest his back against your sofa. She looked up at him with an intensity that you had grown used to from Kento, her chubby hands fisting into his shirt as she began to babble incoherently once again.

“Where is Kento? It’s your birthday and I’m surprised he’s not out here.”

“Passed out. She had a pretty rough night so I turned off his alarm and let him sleep a little more. He takes the night shift so it’s usually me and her in the morning until he wakes up.”

“And things are going well?”

You nodded softly and rested your head against the cushion of your sofa. Rory hummed in appreciation, smiling and cooing happily down at your daughter as you watched them both interact with one another.

Things were going amazingly well. Even in the clouds of exhaustion, Kento exuded nothing but love and dedication to you and your daughter.

In the course of the last few months together, you both had bickered once. Well you griped, and he spoke back to you in that soft and firm tone, and that was during a night of Ulani waking up almost every hour. You had been suffering through a week of painful breasts from breastfeeding and pumping, had barely slept, and had squeezed your eyes shut in frustration as Ulani wailed in your ear. He had knocked on the door of the nursery to check on you and just the sound of another voice had you whipping around and barking at him to leave you alone. You had instantly been washed over with guilt as you took in the sight of the cold compress in his hand and struck with silence as he took your screaming daughter from your arms without a word, firmly placed the compress into your shirt to soothe your breasts and walked from the room, the dying cries of Ulani following him.

He had laughed good naturedly at the swelling of tears in your eyes the next morning when you apologized.

“Love, I would never expect you to be okay with a screaming infant so obviously I forgive you. But please just talk to me. I don’t care how overwhelmed you are, speak to me. Now stop crying. If Ulani starts up again, I will leave you forever.”

Even though he was one to readily show his irritation with others, he could never do that when you or Ulani were involved. Besides that night when he was drunk out of his mind and overcome with grief for Yu, he had never raised his voice again at you. He was everything you ever wanted in a man that it felt almost surreal and almost undeserving. He checked in but never hovered when your baby blues had gotten the best of you, he massaged the ache in your legs and back during the nights where you had to sit up and pump and he couldn’t sleep, and he cooked dinner almost every single night while Ulani was distracted in her baby bouncer and you showered. He even took the time—and you still didn’t know how—to get you flowers consistently. They were always on the granite countertop when you walked into the kitchen in the morning with Ulani in your arms.

The first bouquet was Daffodils, your favorite and a welcome pop of yellow in your kitchen that had a soft smile curling on your face and your chest filling with warmth. When one bouquet wilted, another took its place; perched in the same spot on your counter in the morning as if he had gotten them while you slept. First Daffodils, then Lilacs, then Lilies, all three your favorites and then others that you had never thought of like Gardenias, Fuchsias, and Peonies. You never asked him how and were content to simply hold the gesture close to your heart and kiss him every time a new one graced your eyes when you walked into the kitchen to make breakfast.

When Dr. Williams cleared you for light exercise and sex at your eight week postpartum checkup, part of you had practically jumped for joy. But the other part of you…didn’t really care. Taking care of a baby never gave you the time to think about, let alone want sex. And even though sex with Kento could knock you out, the demands and cries of Ulani managed to do the exact same thing. It was to be expected, your hormones were still slowly adjusting and the shift in them because of breastfeeding had left your libido practically depleted.

Thankfully you had a partner who understood. Kento did his homework, read every baby book he could get his hands on and even sat your doula down to ask her questions on what to expect before and after pregnancy. While every kiss with him grew more heated as the weeks flew by, you just weren’t ready. And Kento being the gentleman he was, adapted gracefully and used all of his effort to make you feel as comfortable as he could while you healed.

So yea, you could confidently say things were going well.

“Look at how strong you are!”

Rory’s voice pulled you back into the present, your eyes blinking and refocusing on your daughter bouncing in his arms. Her tiny feet were planted on his thighs, his large hands caging her torso as he guided her movements to accommodate each press onto his legs, giving her the feeling of independence without letting her go. A noise left her mouth with each moment, hands coming to clap as she squealed in his arms.

The shuffle of feet drew your attention to your hallway as Kento walked into the open air of the living room. His sleep pants hung low and loose on his lower body, his torso covered in a white shirt and pulling against his chest as he ran a hand through messy hair and looked sleepily around the room.

Ulani saw him first, her eyes catching the blonde of his hair over the arm of the sofa before she was screeching happily for him. He reacted almost immediately, firm brown eyes flickering to the three of you on the floor and falling onto his daughter before he was smiling brightly down at her.

“There you are.”

She cooed up at him in response, drool falling down small lips and onto her onesie. Rory chuckled bashfully as he lifted her up in the direction of her father, her arms reaching for him instinctively as he plucked her from your uncle and nestled her into the fabric of his chest. He greeted your uncle warmly and reached his long torso over the sofa to kiss the side of your head before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Did you eat?”

His serious but soft tone carried through the kitchen, over the couch and onto your skin as you rolled your eyes and kept your mouth shut.

“Did you drink water? Or if you want, I can watch Ulani so you can get some fresh air—”

“Kento. I promise, I’m perfectly alright.”

He sighed dramatically from his place in the kitchen and grumbled something beneath his breath like a child who had been told no for the millionth time. Rory snickered from his spot next to you, helped you up and strolled into the kitchen to talk to Kento. You relaxed into the soft cushions of the couch, content to watch them both speak as you let the serene calm in the air press against your skin. A year ago, your life looked a lot different. You spent your mornings fueled with coffee and arched over a desk next to Jin. If you weren’t throwing clay, painting, reading a good book, or with Ome, then your evenings were usually spent with a dinner made for one and your head buried in marketing templates and statements of work. You knew nothing but work and appease to others in the hopes of being seen.

But now, your life was something you held dear even if at times it didn’t seem real. You never thought the man that had driven you up the wall at work would be the father of your child, let alone your partner. You never thought someone as serious and indifferent as him was capable of anything else. The fluttering in your chest never failed to cease when you caught Kento doing normal things around you.

Even right now, it was still so odd to see your daughter with a light brown chubby fist jammed in her mouth and the other twisted in the fabric on her father’s shoulder while he ate with one hand and talked to your uncle about his work and progress at the studio. It was puzzling to watch your uncle throw his head back to guffaw at something you had apparently missed pass from Kento’s lips, Ulani squealing to join in. It was odd to watch those typically straight lips curl to form a smirk, or a laugh, or a smile when it was only you or your friends around. It was odd to see stoic eyes melt to convey other emotions when he spoke to you. You had become familiar with it all for months now, but it still never failed to catch you off guard.

The scene before you had been unfathomable before truly getting to know him further. He was completely at ease in your home, and you couldn’t help the thought as it hit you quickly; a muscled arm secure around his daughter as he sipped from a mug of tea with his left hand, the glimmer of a band on his ring finger winking at you from the lights of your kitchen as he talked to his uncle-in-law. You bit the inside of your cheek at the thought of his eyes catching yours from across the room, the ends of soft blond hair touching the tips of his eyebrows and swaying from his movements as he smiled softly at you and used that same ring covered hand to playfully grab your daughters small hand and wave it in your direction.

The shudder that ran through your body was violent and jarring as the thoughts dissipated and the silent chatter of your uncle and boyfriend faded back into your ears. You couldn’t even count on both of your hands anymore how often you found yourself doing that. Couldn’t even begin to think the number of times you imagined him in almost everything he did, attached to you in some way. But what did you expect? Men like Kento were made to be married to. He was efficient in almost anything that he did, and if there was one thing that made you think about a lingering future with him, it was watching him be a father. Watching him excel in the way he took care of Ulani was nothing special, it was expected of him. Men doing the same job with just as much efficiency and effort as women should never be given any sort of praise. But it was probably the evolutionary and primal part of you that salivated from his efforts and knowing that Ulani was protected and she would always be safe because Kento was the right man for the job. That and also because watching him care for her was the happiest you had ever seen him.

So every time he told you he loved you, held your daughter closer when she cried, and read to her almost every night, it was hard not to imagine him whispering Mrs. Nanami with that familiar teasing lilt in his voice.

“Y/n.”

You jumped, blinking back into reality once again as you looked up at him from your perch on the sofa. His tall form loomed over the back of the couch, gazing down at you with a tranquil expression as he analyzed the features of your face. All traces of your uncle were gone. A large and warm hand slid against the skin of your face, cupping your cheek and stroking the skin beneath your eye.

“Are you well?”

You nodded softly, your tongue thick in your mouth and the muscles of your jaw hinged shut as you tried to come back down from the fog of your overactive imagination. If he could see the unease in your eyes, for once he did not comment on it.

The sound of your phone ringing and vibrating against your leg had you jumping again in your seat. You ignored the lift of his questioning brow and lifted your hands in the direction of Ulani.

“Time to lay her down for a nap.”

He angled her away from you, eyes softening as he took you in.

“I can do it. You should try to nap too while she’s asleep.”

The sight of him smiling down at her as she rubbed her fists tiredly against her eyes, his shirt stretching deliciously across his chest and the prominent curve of a bicep peeking through his sleeve as he held her, had your stomach twisting and wringing itself out like a rag. Even though your libido was as dry as the Sahara, everything Kento did still made your body react all the same.

You nodded again to his gentle suggestion; your voice once again empty. Another lift of his brow, stoic eyes carefully taking in the features of your face before you caught a flicker of mirth in them. It was quick and almost hard to miss, but you gathered the way his pupils expanded only for a second before relaxing back into place.  

He offered you a hand, his fingers flickering back towards himself in a come hither motion as he beckoned you silently toward him. You took his hand without question, trying and failing to keep your eyes from trailing up the expanse of his veiny arm as you walked around the couch and closer to him. His gentle grip tightened, a tug pulling you close and into the hard planes of his side, your body immediately enveloped in warmth from his touch. His own body was soft but the feel of his muscles beneath it all, warm and strong had you melting into him. The hand in yours trailed your forearm before sliding along the fabric of your back and nestling against your waist.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

He was goading you, egging you on just so he could watch your brown skin tint further with blush. And of course, with the smell of his eucalyptus shampoo and woodsy aftershave gliding up your nose and frying what little functional braincells you had, it was logical to give him exactly what he was looking for. You felt your face catch on fire as you nodded dumbly up at him and cursed inwardly as you watched the satisfaction fill his features as he took in the heavy blush on your cheeks and the bob of your Adam’s apple while you swallowed around the thick lump in your throat.

“And you’ll get some sleep? Take a nap for me?”

You narrowed your eyes up at him, trying your best to convey insolence even though the low pitch of his voice had you arching slightly against him. He smirked down at you, reveling at the poutiness of your face, a soft chuckle sliding up and out of his throat. That hand resting on your waist slid slowly up your back, along the expanse of your shoulder blade, along the skin of your trapezius muscle before settling hot and gentle on the crease of your neck. His hand was large enough to cover most of the side of your neck, long fingers scratching the scalp of your nape, and his thumb caressing the skin of your jaw. You couldn’t help the release of a shudder, your eyes fluttering and a soft breath leaving parted lips before you felt his hand angle your neck up, your lips tilting towards him and granting him access to lean down and slide his own against yours with ease.

Your eyes rolled behind closed lids, an exhale sliding from your nose and caressing his own face as his lips danced against yours. Even though it was weak and barely there, you welcomed that familiar lick of heat flaring subtly along the base of your spine.

Ulani’s babbling immediately zapped what little had lingered beneath your skin and Kento pulled away from you just as quickly, keeping your head at the distance he wanted with his gentle grip against the side of your neck. Ginger tea tinged breath danced along your cheeks as he breathed against you, another smirk pulling against his lips before he was muttering down at you.

“Be good for me, love and go take a nap.”

A smack against the thin material of your sweatpants, sudden and stinging, had you squeaking against him and that small flame inside of you flickering again. You pulled out of his hold and whirled around to the direction of your room before you could embarrass yourself further, your body practically pooling with sweat and heat from his words. His chest shook with laughter as he watched you scurry away from him, a hand flipping him off and your mouth cursing him before you rounded the corner and disappeared from his view.

***

So far, your birthday had been everything you could have asked for. You used to dread the day your thirtieth would come. You had fallen into the stigma of needing to have a set of accomplishments at this age, had let it rule over you as you worked yourself to the bone all through your twenties. Truth be told, Ulani had put a lot of things in perspective. Since the day you realized she would be a possibility, your entire world had flipped on its axis and made you rethink every priority you had set for yourself since high school.

The mangled strings of the relationship with your mother had finally gave under pressure and dissolved in the vat of acid it hung above for years. The job you had worked hard for had been ripped away from you. The existential question of who you wanted to be had suddenly been thrust front and center.

But even through that heartbreak and pain, you finally turned to the persistent voices of what you truly wanted. Through your uncle and Kento and Ome, you finally embraced that side of yourself that you had kept pushed down for so long. The Instagram Kento made for your art was steadily ringing with commissions, and while you only had time for one or two since Ulani’s birth, the newfound confidence and notoriety had set you on a path you were comfortable to walk down for the foreseeable future.

You were still figuring it all out, but that was the point. Thirty was by no means old and you finally understood that. Now that you were finally on the path you wanted to be on, the possibilities made more sense.

So even though today was just like any other birthday, you could confidently say it marked a shift in your life that you could finally be proud of.

When you woke from your nap, Ulani showered you with sloppy and drool filled birthday kisses. Ome, Kaya, and Shoko yanked you out of the house for an afternoon of shopping, a great Ramen lunch, and a manicure and pedicure to top it off. You were practically aching for Ulani when you walked into the door but the sight of your daughter gurgling on Kento’s chest as he laid on the floor of your living room and spoke to her, an arm around to cradle her, and the deep brown of Aiko’s hair splattered against his other arm as she snored against his side…the sight of it made your heart clench tighter and a smile stretch on your face.

You had expected to be brought to a nice restaurant filled with people who dressed far more extravagantly than you and a menu with not a price in sight. But Kento knew you would be uncomfortable; he knew you wouldn’t want to wear a dress that was probably too tight and be around people who only made you feel more insecure in yourself. So, he surprised you with a billowy navy sweater dress that fit against you comfortably and dragged you to an alley of Nakameguro filled with street food. With Ulani in the care of his parents, you both were free to relax and enjoy the cool night air of the city. You indulged in yakitori, karaage, and crepes; Kento finished an entire Okonomiyaki and a beer without an ounce of remorse. You complained of not being able to have a bite, he placated you with a miniscule sip of what remained of his beer.

As you both walked the busy streets in the direction of the car and with your head resting against his arm, you felt sated and happy.

“One last stop.”

His voice pulled you out of your reverie as you turned with him to face the business you had stopped in front of. From what you could see through the glass storefront, the establishment was closed but the lights inside dim. An old gallery that you and Chiyo passed during your morning walks often but never paid much attention to. It typically was only open when there was an exhibit and the last one was right when Ulani was born.

He ignored your worried protests as he opened the door and walked inside, pulling you with him with a soft chuckle.

“Kento, this is trespassing!”

“My love, the door was open.”

Your mouth was open and ready to fire away a retort before the lights brightened.

What you previously had thought to be an empty room was actually filled and laid out carefully with ceramic art. Black stone pillars at various distances around the gallery were topped with pieces that you immediately recognized. The gasp left your mouth before you could stop it and you were squealing and rushing to the first pillar next to you as you took in the monolith sculpture. To anyone else, it was a large block. But you could see every intricacy and detail beneath it. Different layers of clay had been pressed and molded together, glazed with a mixture of colors that made each layer shine fluorescent as they stacked on top of each other. Whatever technique it was, the artist had used it to make geometric shapes of various sizes. Cubes, cylinders, hexagons, and spheres; some as short as your shin and others as tall as Kento. Your body was humming with electricity as you took it all in, your eyes falling to the small inscription beneath the work of art to confirm the source.

“Choso Kamo! This is his gallery. We have to find out when this opens, I have so many questions.”

“You can him if you want.”

You threw Kento an odd look, taking in his indifferent gaze that blanketed a layer of mirth as he flickered his gaze over your shoulder. You heard the rustle behind you, eyes wide in shock. Turning slowly and refraining—and failing—from pulling in an embarrassingly loud breath, Choso Kamo stood on the other side of the black stone pillar.

While a few inches shorter than Kento, his stance was just as imposing, shoulders just as broad. Stringy black hair tied up into two buns with thick bangs hanging down each side of his face, deep purple eyes with a ring of purple beneath thick lashes that made him look exhausted, and the characteristic birthmark of a line across the bridge of his nose. He looked as if he belonged in the dark, as if he slept in the moist corners of alleys and only rose with the moon. To others he probably was someone you would never try to talk to, but his well known innocence and shy nature was palpable in the small space between you both.

You nodded politely in his direction, muttering your name through excited lips and smiling softly as he bowed respectfully.

“I’ve followed your work since my freshman year of college. You’re definitely one of my favorites.”

The soft smile he shot your way was kind and gentle, small purple pupils reminiscent of Geto shining back at you.

“Then it would be an honor to show you around.”

Kento was the last thought on your mind as you walked with Choso to each black stone pillar. He described every work of art to you in detail, answered every question around soft chuckles while you rambled aimlessly over everything you had studied over the years, and even discussed what his plans were for the exhibit. Monolith sculptures, terracotta figurines of ancient Japanese artifacts and monsters, disfigured heads made with metal, stone, and wood. So many pieces of his craft made with different firing techniques and materials and all right in front of you.

He was the same age as you, and the perfect example of someone who had taken a hobby and morphed it into something beautiful. When you had your first internship, he was already teaching classes at a small studio near his home in Okinawa. While your days were filled with paperwork and marketing presentations, Choso was already working on a handful of commissions and building his fanbase. Life could have gone so much differently for you.

You had no idea how much time had passed, but before you knew it, your feet had landed right back at the front of the exhibit, your heart filling with disappointment even in the mix of excitement and happiness.

“I cannot begin to convey how wonderful this has been, Choso. Thank you so, so much for entertaining me.”

He waved you off, throwing another characteristic soft smile your way before his eyes were flickering away from you and back again. In the short time of being around him, he didn’t particularly exude confidence. While his work spoke for itself and he knew he was successful, if you put him in a room full of people, you hardly would have noticed him, and you’re sure he would have liked it that way. He was quiet and just as reserved as Kento, his face looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, but when he spoke about his work, the fondness and pride in his gaze and voice was hard to ignore.

“I actually was wondering if I could commission some of your work?”

You blanched, brows furrowing quickly in confusion and your head tilting to let the sudden fog in your head slide out of your ear. He swallowed stiffly before clearing his throat.

“I apologize, I’m not the best at conversation unless someone is asking me about my work. What I mean to say is, I’ve heard a lot about you, and I would be honored if you could make something for me.”

Your mind was reeling with the implications of his words. Kento, who had yet to utter a word since walking into the gallery with you, remained quiet as he took in the interaction in front of him.

“How did you know that I—”

“I like the work of artists who are fresh into the world. But artists who actually know what they are doing.” He interrupted you, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans, his body stiffening further as he tried to ignore the shock on your face. “A few weeks ago, I found out that I have a half-brother. Yuji.”

The sound of his name in the air as it fell from his lips made him relax instantly, his bored eyes softening as they met yours.

“It’s a long story, but as soon as he found out what I do for work, he was telling me everything about you. He’s very…loquacious and once I saw your page, I knew I had to have some of your work.” His head gestured to the silent man next to you. “Nanami-san and Yuji organized this whole thing so I could meet you.”

You whipped your head over to look up at him, mouth gaping as his eyes met yours. Serious brown pupils danced as he looked down at you, an eyebrow lifting and the corners of his lips twitching with the hint of a smirk. Of course he would do something like this.

Leave it to Kento to—

“I know with a new baby that things are hectic, and we can easily work with your schedule. But…I would really love to have something of yours in my home.”

The stinging in the back of your eyes was hard to ignore, prickling along the edges of your lashes with every blink as you struggled to maintain your composure. The feel of Kento’s hand, hot and firm against the small of your back, tethered you into this moment. You shot Choso a small smile.

“I would love that.”

You were on cloud nine the entire walk to the car, chatting excitedly to a quiet but listening Kento as he buckled you in and pulled onto the now quiet streets of Nakameguro. Your mind was spinning with the possibilities, already crafting up sketches of what you could make before you realized you were on a familiar elevator and not at the front door of your home.

“Why are we at your apartment? What about Ulani?”

“My parents have volunteered to watch her tonight,” The faint whiff of vanilla hit your nose as you followed him into his home.

“They are staying at your home, so they have everything they need. My mother texted me an hour ago. Ulani is bathed, satiated with a good book, and sleeping. They will take turns at night with her.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand stroking the side of your arm. “Are you comfortable with that?” Even though you were elated for a little more free time, you couldn’t help the twinge of guilt in the pit of your stomach. “Don’t feel guilty, please. My mother practically begged me to watch her. I’ve never seen her glare at me so much in her entire life, when I tried to refuse.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that shot from your throat, your shoulders relaxing as you let the anxiety dissipate into the air. Chiyo and Santo knew what they were doing.

Sensing the shift in you, Kento took your hand in his, squeezing once to spread the warmth up your arm before leading you to his long sofa and setting you down on the cushions. You watched him sink down to his knees in front of you, his mouth in a firm but relaxed line as he reached down to fumble with the strap of your boots, blonde loose hair falling in front of his eyes and concealing his expression from you.

Your teeth dug into the moist skin of your lips, helping the urge to keep yourself quiet as he slid off your shoes and ran warm calloused hands up your stocking covered calves. The urge to tease stabbed the muscles of your cheeks right on cue, your mouth opening as his eyes caught yours.

“You’re plotting something.”

A small huff, the air from his nose brushing against your knuckles as they dug into the material at your knees.

“I appreciate all that you do for Ulani. And while I do what I can, there are some things that biologically I am unable and instinctually that I cannot feel.” With long hands, he reached behind you to unclasp the latch of your silver diamond necklace. “I read that mother’s tend to feel ‘touched out’ after so much physical contact after birth. I try not to touch you as much as I can. In reality, it comes so naturally to me that I hardly notice until it’s already happening. But I know with you constantly having to breastfeed and pick her up and hold her and interact with her day in and day out, you can start to feel as if your body is not your own.”

He took off your earrings and undid the clip in your hair, your curls falling down your back.

“You do so well with her, you’re a lifeline to me in a way that I can’t explain and you guide me with the things I struggle with in my care for her. But I don’t ever want you to feel as if you are drowning. So tonight, you’re going to take a bath and relax and be alone for as long as you want.”

You blinked away the mistiness in your eyes, your heart hammering in your chest from the waves of affection thrumming through your veins. For as much of a gentleman that Kento was, you had expected him to try and make a move on you. But it was your anxiety talking, you knew it was. He knew from your reluctance to look in the mirror and the large shirts you always wore that it would be awhile before you felt comfortable with yourself. He had shown a relaxed side of himself as you both scarfed down greasy food, had shown his care and love by surprising you with a tour and commission from your favorite artist, and now he was showing his devotion and attention to detail by giving you time for yourself.

Kento was of course, being Kento.

You licked your lips, reaching up to brush locks of hair from his forehead and watching with soft revere as they slid back into place.

“And what if I don’t want to be alone?”

“Then you can take a bath and relax…and then we will do whatever you want.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you and breathing in the richness of his cologne. He reacted on instinct, his own muscular arms wrapping around your waist, his hands rubbing along the clothed skin of your back and his lips pressing into the crease of your neck that had your throat drawing tight and your eyes blinking away another onslaught of tears.

You sniffed harshly against him; your lashes wet as you gazed at your dim reflection in his television.

“I’ll take a bath…but then we could watch the season finale of Real Housewives of Salt Lake City? It’s all over the internet. I think there was a fight.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

And an hour after you had taken a long hot bath and moisturized your skin and he had braided your hair back before throwing your bonnet on, you relaxed against the soft cushions of his sofa with your bare legs propped on his lap. A pale arm reached for you, his hand outstretched and beckoning before you placed a few kernels of popcorn in his hand. Since playing the episode, his eye’s hadn’t left the screen. You had been in this very position so many times and it still astonished you just how engrossed he could become with a bunch of rich white women bickering at each other. Eyes unblinking, he threw the popcorn in his mouth, chewing softly as Heather Gay screamed at another woman on the television.

A jabbing insult, something that he hadn’t expected, and his eyebrows were twitching in shock before a sharp chuckle shook from his chest.

He needed to be studied.

A flicker of movement made his gaze turn to yours, eyes softening as he took you in. He rubbed the skin of your leg beneath the throw blanket atop of you.

“A good birthday then?”

Another harsh insult, yelling filled with censored sound effects and going on for what felt like a full minute had his eyes flickering back to the screen immediately, his entire face shifting with the surprise of missing something.

You laughed harshly, sighing into the cushions and burrowing further into the blankets. His thumb traced a random pattern on the skin of your knee, his chest shaking in silent laughter as he watched the women bicker.

“Definitely a good birthday.”

***

Kento returned to work in November when Ulani was a little over four months old. You practically forced him out of the house at five am to get him back into the swing of routine with his morning run. And even after making you a small breakfast and getting himself ready for work, he hung by the front door, trying his best to stay close as Ulani looked up at him tiredly from her perch in your arms.

He hated being away from you both. Work wasn’t an issue; he could turn it off and on in the blink of an eye. It was attending meeting after meeting when he could be helping you at home. It was eating lunch with Yuji with a small smile as he listened to him jabber when he would have been much happier if his daughter was in his arms and reaching for his fork. He missed you both.

So, you decided to surprise him at the end of the week with Ulani strapped snuggly to your chest and a bento for lunch. You hadn’t been inside of the office since being let go months before. You hadn’t expected to ever come back really. But thankfully, everyone that remembered you from before flocked to you immediately, cooing over your daughter as she giggled at them. With Mahito’s termination and revelation that he and the higher ups had used your ideas to gain intel from other companies, to everyone else, it was a joy to see you again.

Yaga, who offered you a very affectionate but stiff nod when he saw you, held your daughter with awkward hands, his tall form and stern face only earning him a displeased grunt from her as she wiggled to be let free. His words were always kind, but his demeanor had always rubbed hard as stone on you and others. He loved children but getting the words to come out and be affectionate was never his strength.

Geto, Gojo, and Yuji practically followed you into Kento’s office, falling over each other and trying to garner Ulani’s attention as she reached in their direction.

“I told you, she wants me.” Geto smacked Gojo’s hands away, earning a small yelp from the white haired man and a harsh glare. “Get your nasty, sugar coated hands away—"

Geto stopped talking immediately as Kento stood tall and dominating from his mahogany desk, strode over to you, and plucked his daughter from her carrier. Surprised but serene eyes behind his glasses gazed down at her.

“Hello, my dove.”

She squealed up at him, placing light brown hands on sharp cheekbones and effectively shutting up everyone in the room.

“Stay the rest of the day with me. You and Ulani.”

He muttered the words against the skin of your neck as you packed away the empty containers of both bentos on his desk.

“And where will Ulani go?”

“I brought a playmat from home and its stored in the closet. Just in case.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes playfully as you zipped up the bag.

“And where will I sit?”

“Simple. On my lap.”

The warmth from his chest leeched into the fabric of your shirt, bleeding through the wool of your sweater and onto your skin, goosebumps prickling in response. He kissed the skin softly, pulling a nervous giggle from your throat before you tried to wave him away.

You were getting there. With every touch from him in passing, the responding heat grew more and more, licking against the base of your spine and festering, demanding attention. You wanted him. You always did and you thankfully that feeling was returning since the baby had been born.

But you were so uncomfortable in your body. So unwilling to look in the mirror as you got dressed. So insecure and frustrated when you threw your favorite jeans into the back of your closet because they were too tight.

It was natural to feel this way. It was perfectly normal. But you felt like an alien in your own skin every single day.

He rubbed the sides of your arms, sensing your apprehension and adjusting to the change instantly by placing a kiss to your cheek instead. With your bag in hand and a kicking daughter strapped to your torso, you turned around to face him, your teeth digging into the skin of your bottom lip.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I—”

“Nanamin! Look who’s here. I didn’t realize your one o’clock appointment would be—”

Gojo stopped short, taking in you and Kento’s close proximity before wincing. Kento’s lunch hour had ended awhile ago and he had procrastinated just to keep you and Ulani with him longer.

Kento sighed softly to himself, waves of impatience hitting you from his breath as he straightened up and pressed his glasses further up his nose. You turned around to face Gojo, ready to make for the door, and suddenly wished you hadn’t.

Because Kento’s one o’clock appointment was a woman who was already smiling at you both. Taller than you but shorter than him, a strong jawline and button nose, a top lip slightly heavier than the bottom, prominent cheekbones and deep brown eyes framed with thick lashes. She was fucking beautiful. Her thick eyebrows had been plucked and grown out to look like the most natural thing in the world, her dark brown wavy hair hung loose over her shoulder, and her olive skin was covered in a sleek black dress and modest pumps.

What the fuck kind of appointment was this going to be?

“Kento. It’s so good to see you.”

And on a first name basis?

The smooth syllables of her voice sang sinfully in your ear. The rich Italian accent wasn’t hard to miss, it was heavy and fluid, clipping the edges of her words and making her slightly raspy tone more beautiful than what you wanted it to be.

Kento cleared his throat from behind you, shooting cold water down your spine and pulling your gaze away from her and to him. His eyes seemed…hesitant?

“Pia. It’s nice to see you as well. I’d like you to meet y/n, my partner. And this is our daughter.” Almond shaped eyes met yours again, a pearly white smile flashing at you and smacking you in the face.

What the fuck?

While you were thankful that Kento had immediately introduced you, you suddenly felt out of place between them all. Gojo with his beautiful snow white hair and ethereal blue eyes all wrapped up in expensive clothing, Kento with his own crisp tan slacks and blue button up, his yellow tie speckled black in that same outfit you had met him in, and this woman who you didn’t know, shining so brightly at you and making you feel weird and uncomfortable and insecure in your simple oversized sweater and jeans.

“Y/n, this is Pia Ranello, she represents a reputable wine company in Italy and is recruiting the company’s help for marketing in Japan. I thought they were sending your Director of Marketing here instead.”

Pia scoffed, waving an elegantly manicured hand, thin fingers brushing her hair off her shoulder and her throat shaking out a melodious laugh.

“When I heard you would be here, I jumped at the opportunity. Don’t be so rigid, Kento.” She rolled her eyes playfully, brown twinkling irises landing on you as she smiled again. “We used to date. Freshman through senior year of college.”

Huh?

“Is that so?” you masked the shock with a thin and tattered blanket of sarcasm, a small chuckle escaping your mouth as you glanced at Kento. His eyes were stoic and unmoving as ever, the most serious you had ever seen them and flickering between Gojo and Pia. “I’m sure his stoicism hasn’t changed them?”

A stupid giggle. “Not at all.”

A displeased noise from Ulani sprung you into action. Hopefully she was just as unhappy as you were. You squeezed the muscle of his clothed bicep, pulling his attention down to you so you could offer him a simple smile.

“I’ll see you later today. Have a good rest of your day.”

He leaned down before you had finished speaking, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek before returning the sentiment. You muttered a quick ‘nice to meet you’ in her direction and shot Gojo an annoyed glare before slinking past them both and out the door.

***

“Represents a reputable wine company, my ass! She’s a fucking wine magnate! Gojo said that they might have to go to Italy for this ‘project’ with her. I swear I’ll rip every last blonde hair from his head if Kento even approaches an airport.”

You rolled your eyes as Ome growled through the speaker of your phone, silver eyes glaring and unfocused on the shared screen as you watched her search the internet. Ulani was nursing in your lap, humming softly and fighting sleep. It was almost seven pm, and the quick phone call a few hours prior letting you know he would be working overtime for the first time since you both started dating, had your stomach in knots.

It was fine. Just overtime. Things happen.

It’s fine.

When she called you, you had barely gotten the threat to leave the subject alone before she was pulling up Instagram and digging in without a second thought.

You watched Ome scroll through her feed, doing your best to ignore the many shots on the beach, and exploits across the globe. She was dressed in every color under the sun, her olive skin glistening no matter the time of day, weather, or facial expression. They were simple pictures, but it showed that she was always on the go and always living in the most luxurious of standards. But those pictures soon gave way to single shots of her; dresses and outfits that were the most beautiful you had ever seen, hairstyles of grandeur and makeup of different shades that only enhanced her beauty as she walked across a catwalk in different shows.

“What year did Kento graduate college?”

“2016.”

You could tell where this was going, didn’t want to even admit the possibility. But the minute Ome clicked a photo and brought up an enhanced shot of her in a loose sage gown by Tony Ward, the date showing this was well into her college years, you knew.

“He dated a fucking supermodel.”

Your knotted stomach twisted tighter, pain shooting up your spine and making your eyes flutter.

“I don’t want to look anymore.”

She wasn’t listening, scrolling further and further down, getting earlier in the years. And then your heart stopped entirely. At the bottom of her profile, the very first photo she had posted, was a picture of them both. It was a shot she had clearly taken, only her legs visible as she sat stretched on a couch, a t-shirt stopping at the middle of her thighs and socked feet resting on the blanketed lap of a man. His face was obscured behind a book, head resting on the side of the cushion. But the messy, thick tufts of blonde hair were unmistakable. So was the familiar long fingers that had touched and caressed you that now lay on her legs in the photo.

“I said no more,” you snapped at her. Ulani wiggled in distress against you, settling back into your embrace immediately before she was humming and making noises again. Ome closed out of the app immediately, her face coming into view, guilty and surprised.

“I deserved that.”

You shook your head. “No, you don’t. I’m overreacting, I know I am. But…fuck if you saw her today Ome. I’m not a jealous person but she was fucking beautiful.”

“So are you.” You opened your mouth to argue with her but was immediately interrupted. “Stop it. You gave birth to an ENTIRE child. You were beautiful before, and you’re fucking gorgeous now. Ulani keeps me from throttling you, I swear. This feeling will pass, I promise you. And I’ll be there to help you along the way, okay?” You stroked the skin of your daughter’s cheek, earning a sleepy glance your way as she nursed. “How about we find and slash the tires of her limo that we both know she’s using to drive around.”

The comment pulled a surprised chuckle from your throat, Ome’s own raspy laugh pushing out the speaker and echoing through the room of your daughter’s nursery.

You were combing through wet hair, a thin robe covering your slightly damp skin when you heard the front door unlock and open. It was late, far past seven pm and far past your comfort when you thought about it. He was only working.

He wouldn’t do anything. Kento would never.

He wouldn’t.

But those familiar tendrils of anxiety, taunting and slimy, began to circle the exposed and moisturized skin of your calves as you stood up to make your way inside the large master bathroom. It was easier to look at your reflection when you had something on. Your eyes could rest easy as you plaited your hair and moisturized your arms. Pia’s body was probably naturally silky. The water in her shower no doubt danced off her skin as she bathed. It was probably soft and without blemish when Kento would bend her over bed and fuck her until—

Stop. Stop. Stop.

You shook away the thoughts, smoothing the last remnants of facial moisturizer on your cheek as the bathroom door opened and Kento leaned against the frame. His hair was free of gel, his glasses and tie gone, the top two buttons of his shirt taken loose.

“You’re upset with me.”

You fiddled with the end of one of your braids, twirling a finger around the damp strands.

“You never work overtime.” You couldn’t help how sarcastic your tone was as the words left you, your heart pumping irregularly against the inside of your chest. You back peddled. “Which is fine! I know that this project is pretty important—”

“It’s not.”

“And as a Director, you need to make sure things are in order and flowing in the right direction—”

“My love—”

You flinched from the name, interrupting again. “And Gojo says that you might have to go to Italy with her. Which would be a great opportunity to get the company notoriety in another country—”

“Y/n.”

Firm and steely, his voice low and heavy with that deep timbre that could make you do just about anything.

“Yes?”

“I’m not going to Italy.”

Oh.

“I spent my entire day working with her and Yaga so that I could pass the project on to someone else. The content schedule, marketing plan, a work agreement, and deliverables have been drafted up and the budget has been pushed to finance. While she will be in the office, I will have no dealings with her and once the project is done, she will be back in Italy for the foreseeable future.”

Oh.

You swallowed the sharp lump in your throat, the edges slicing the muscle and making your brows furrow as you thought of what to say.

And of course, you decided to put your foot in your mouth.

“It’s a shame you won’t see her as often. I’m sure you’ve missed her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

You fucking idiot.

Guilt licked your skin, its acid like touch making your body sting as you harnessed that small bucket of defiance that you usually used for moments like this and met his gaze. Fiery brown eyes met your own, dark blonde eyebrows arching in shock and confusion from your words.

“I said that I’m sure you’ve missed her. You dated for four years. All throughout college. She was a supermodel, and now she’s a fucking wine magnate. W-why wouldn’t you want to see her??”

He pushed from the door frame and was in your space before you could blink, his broad chest blocking the low lights of your bathroom, the faint scent of his favorite cologne fanning up your nose and making you dizzy. He was so close, every breath between you both brushed your robe covered chest against his shirt.

“What else then?”

You faltered from his question, trying to dig through the stony but heady gaze that was directed at you as you swallowed a flutter of butterflies before they could fly from your throat.

“And…and she’s beautiful really. She seems smart if she’s running her company. She’s successful and she’s traveled a lot and has money.”

“You’re rambling.”

You were. But you were also trying desperately to stay afloat as you felt him press impossibly closer to you. The feel of your bathroom counter brushing the fabric on your back had you staggering, hands reaching back to grip the cold stone and a shaky breath leaving your lungs.

“Do you doubt my loyalty to you?”

You shook your head immediately, all anxious thoughts of him coming home so late leaving you and ignoring the sudden sting in your eyes as you felt the last fragments of your defiance fade away between the small space of you both.

“I don’t. It’s just…how could you break up with something like that? She was apparently everything you wanted back then. But instead, you’ve settled with someone who sticks out like a sore thumb in this entire country. Who got laid off from her own fucking job and has a terrible relationship with her own family and who spends her free time playing with clay and paint. You settled with someone that can’t even look in the mirror at herself because all she sees are scars and body dysmorphia that’s so overwhelming that most of the time she can hardly breathe.”

What was left of your control of your tongue snapped and cracked against the muscle, flinching to yourself as you shook out another uneasy breath and pulled your gaze from him. All of your worries, all of your insecurities and self-conscious thoughts of not only this week, but since Ulani had been born had suddenly been brought to the forefront and pushed between you both, escaping your mouth with no intention of holding back.

“I’m not a jealous person. I never have been. But it’s so hard for me to feel like myself when the mothers I see on my walks with Chiyo with babies Ulani’s age look just like Pia. I know this will get better. I don’t want to look like a fucking model. I just want to feel comfortable. I shouldn’t be so self-deprecating. Lately, it’s just hard not to be. I’ve never felt more insecure and out of my skin and hideous in my entire life.”

You blinked away the thick tears in your eyes, cursing sharply into the stiff air of your bathroom as you wiped the tears roughly from your cheeks. The embarrassment and shame was so thick in your stomach, heavy as lead and churning to make you nauseous. You wanted to walk away from him, bury yourself beneath the duvet on your bed and hide away until you could stomach your own existence again.

He was silent for far too long, his eyes taking you in as he watched you wipe away your tears with a frustrated expression. He had known you were struggling, had tried his very best to make you feel seen and loved without overwhelming you. But now he could finally see just how broken down you were. He had underestimated it all. In his eyes, you were beautiful. He had felt that way even when he couldn’t stand your presence, had felt that way as he watched Ulani grow within you, and had felt that way to a much higher degree as he watched you crying, screaming, and sweaty in his arms as you did the one thing not many could do.

And now you were struggling to stay afloat, struggling to look at yourself and see that to him, you were everything in whatever form you came.

He pulled in a slow, relaxed breath, empathetic and serious eyes watching you try to pull yourself together as he spoke.

“I broke up with Pia our senior year. I loved her, or at least I thought I did and she helped me not be so awkward and stiff around others. But we were completely different people. At first she was loving and kind. But eventually she grew vindictive and crude to others and it took me a long time to see because she was my first love. She fell into modeling because it was easy for her and many already looked to her because of her beauty. She became a wine magnate because her father owns a multibillion dollar company and left it to her in the will when he passed away a few years ago. She came to my company because she has no idea what she is doing and thought she could get a discount on the budget because she knows me.”

Of course, there was a logical explanation. Of fucking course.

You couldn’t help the blush of embarrassment that colored your cheeks as his clarifying words settled on your shoulders. Your teeth worried your bottom lip, pulling and kneading at the already split muscle while you kept your eyes focused on his sock covered feet on your shiny bathroom floor.

A press of his thumb to your bottom lip made you jump and with a small tug he pulled your lip free before smoothing over the split skin with the pad of his finger. It trailed down the short span of your chin, applying small pressure and pulling your head up to meet his commanding gaze.

“Yes, Pia is beautiful. But when I look at her, I do not see much else besides the reasons I would never want to be with her again. When I look at her, I don’t see her snapping at me because I didn’t agree with her ideas or slapping me across the face because I spoke disrespectfully or challenging me every day to do better and not run away from myself.”

You made to turn your head away, but his gentle grip on your chin tightened slightly, pulling you back to face him wordlessly. He stroked the drying streaks of tears from the sides of your face, the warmth from his hands making the blood in your cheeks boil and the blush deepen against him.

“When I look at her, I don’t see someone who can touch anything and make it beautiful or someone who gave me a child…or someone that I want a future with.”

Your caught the slight crease between his brows and the flash of pain in his irises.

“Stop comparing yourself to Pia. The line between you and her or any other woman in my life, is and always will be nonexistent.”

The words fell from his lips with not a care in the world, so natural and free and without a second thought. The feel of his hands on your upper arms caught you by surprise, but you were swallowing the question as he gently turned you around to face the long mirror in your bathroom. Only the lights above your shower and along the mirror in front of you were on; the shadows casting against the sharp cheekbones of Kento’s face as he looked at you in your reflections made you bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Do you remember what you did for me? When I was the most intoxicated I had ever been in my life and grieving over Yu?” You nodded, your tongue thick in your mouth, you skin humming with static as you felt and watched him take your thick braids loose. “I knew exactly what I needed to do to cope and never had the strength; and you made me see reason. You walked into my house and turned me the way I needed to so that I could heal the right way. Shall I do the same for you?”

“Kento—”

“You never look in the mirror when you get dressed, and that simply won’t do. Not tonight.”

You could taste the apprehension in the air as he spoke, your hands wringing together to fight off the nerves as you dug them into the thin cotton of your robe. Your hair, now unbraided and slightly damp, brushed against the fabric of your back, providing a thin cushion between you and the warmth of Kento’s chest. Your curls framed the sides of your face, dark tendrils pressing to the skin of your cheeks and neck as you felt his hands slide along the covered skin of your back and down to wrap around your waist. The whiff of his cologne was sharp, caressing your body and massaging along the goosebumps that had sprouted again beneath your robe.

“Look in the mirror.”

Even though his words were gentle, there was no mistaking the demand that was buried beneath. With a thick swallow, you slid your eyes up to your reflection. Your breathing was uneven and staggering as you leaned into his embrace. Your cheeks were darker with blush, your eyebrows pinched with worry as you met his gaze. Long fingers ran over the tie of your robe, his veiny forearms flexing from the movement of his tendons as he pulled the tie loose.

You grabbed his hands harshly, your fingers digging into the skin of the tops of his palms, your eyes widening at the sight of your white panties and the exposed skin above it. Your heart hammered in your chest, those tendrils of anxiety chuckling evilly as they coiled around your arms like a snake and plucked painfully at the sides of your fingers, beckoning for you to let go.

“Kento.”

“Do you wish for me to stop?”

The question made you pause, the sincerity in his voice laced with concern and regard for your own comfort. You pushed back against the insistence of your nerves, ignored the burning sensation inside of you as they distressed at the ends. In the mirror, you watched your fingers relax against him, crescent moons from your nails popping against the stretch of smooth skin. You couldn’t stop the slight tremble in your body as your hands fell to your sides and your robe fell open, revealing the soft skin of your belly and the corners of your breasts.

His gaze watched you as you remained locked on his fingers while they splayed along the skin of your stomach. What was once barely noticeable planes of muscle had stretched to their limit to accommodate a child. And now, those planes were gone, smoothed over with skin that was littered in stretch marks along your sides and around your belly button. They were faint and while you knew they would fade into practically nothing overtime, in your eyes they were as bright as the sun, blaring like sirens and screaming at you every time you looked down.

But Kento traced the marks as if they were the most precious things to him, the pads of his fingers skimming along the minutely raised and shiny skin. His adoration for you was abundant, emanating from the tips of his fingers as they traced from beginning to end, relaxing you slowly, loving you slowly. Warmth slid up the sides of your torso, caressing the skin still covered as he trailed them up your arms and to the tops of your shoulders. He worried the hem of your robe for only a second before hooking a finger beneath each side and sliding the garment off your shoulders so it could pool on the floor.

You were quick to cover your breasts with one hand, your body shaking from the cold air hitting the rest of your skin and the exposure of being laid out in front of him. One hand rested against the curve of your waist while the other trailed along the skin of your arm, covering your hand and stroking the skin of the back of your palm. With each soft stroke he asked for permission wordlessly, caressed your nerves until they were compressed enough to help you breath just a little easier.

You sighed shakily, fingers flinching against him as they relaxed with his touch and fell away to rest at your side. Your breasts had changed, bigger but not by much and nipples a little perter because of pumping and breastfeeding. But lately when you looked at them, they only felt like tools for sustenance, not the appealing or sexy like you felt before.

He brushed the curls off your shoulders, exposing your entire front before wrapping his arms around your chest and resting his chin on your shoulder. You looked away quickly, focusing on the marble of your countertop instead. You could feel his gaze through your reflection roving over your body, taking in every inch of you.

“Look at me.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, pursing your lips to fight off a sneer as his words poked at you.

“Y/n.” Firmer this time and more insistent, your eyes flickering up to meet his in the mirror.

“I can talk until I am blue in the face, because at the end of the day your feelings are yours and yours alone. But I need you to understand that this is beautiful.” His hands traced along the sides of your thicker thighs, pressing into the skin to watch it pillow and dimple around his fingers. They slid up to caress your stretch marks again, bringing fire in their wake with his words and burning a trail to the spot between your legs that you hadn’t thought about in months. “These, something that shows just how far your body would go to bring our daughter into this world…these are beautiful.”

You melted further into him, letting the hard muscle of his chest mold against your back and the bracketing of his arms around you sink further into the skin of your waist. The place between your thighs roaring slowly to life, embers licking low and steady as they pressed against the tight cage of your repressed libido. Fingertips of his thumbs traced lightly against the skin on the side and under your breast, the skin jiggling from your staggered breath at his touch.

“Every inch of you is the most beautiful thing I have and will ever see. Like you say, with time, that feeling will pass. But I need you to understand that every part of you is beauty. The only flaw that I see is your own reluctance to understand that.”

You blinked away the fogginess in your vision, your eyes betraying you as he studied your expression in the mirror, unmoving, breath fanning against your neck as his chin remained perched on your shoulder.

“And you still want me?”

“You know the answer to that question, and it will never change.”

His answer was instant and resolute, his tone without any modicum of hesitation. The corners of your lips curled just so, offering him a gentle smile as he glared playfully at you in the mirror.

“Would you like me to show you?”

Your ears were ringing from the question, high decibels blaring down your eardrums as you grew hot all over. One of his hands brushed your curls over one shoulder, exposing the side of your neck to him.

“I…I suppose you could. Will you be fair?

A chuckle into your neck as full lips pressed against the skin made your stomach flutter.

“Always.”

“A near naked woman in your arms and you lie through your teeth. I should have expected as much.”

Another chuckle, sharper this time and filled with warmth, his arms wrapping around your waist again and pulling you close, nuzzling his neck into the heat of your skin and inhaling the smell of your lilac body wash. The sound of him against you, rumbling your anxiety loose and pushing it away, made your stomach swoop in sudden lust as you felt his hand brush along the hem of your panties.

Your skin twitched to the touch, arching away from the stimulation and then relaxing against his fingers as they danced against you. You watched them in the mirror, flicking the edge of your underwear, his lips pressing a kiss behind your ear before he slid his hand down. You gasped sharply at the feeling of him on you and sliding a finger between your folds, pushing through surprising wetness.

You were worried that with breastfeeding it would be next to impossible to feel this way again and while you weren’t all the way to feeling like you were before, you were so fucking thankful that you could get wet, let alone be aroused at his touch. One of your hands grabbed him, keeping you trussed to his actions so you could fall into his practiced hands as two thick digits circled your clit. The whine that oozed out of your throat creaked from a place inside of you that was slowly coming alive, desire fanning the flames in your belly to make them grow more and more as you felt him dip his middle finger down to gather the slick at your entrance.

“Don’t look away or else I’ll have to stop.”

Your eyes slid back up to meet your own, cheeks ruddy with mild awkwardness as you watched him trail his other hand up your torso to palm your breast. He was gentle with you, caressing your skin and reveling in your breathy sighs as he stroked your clit in the way he knew. The base of your spine tensed, sparks of that white hot feeling you loved beginning to tease you from the inside out and pull you tight. His breath against your neck was deep and slow, trying to keep himself composed even though his own cock was twitching in his pants with every wet swipe of his fingers against you. You were holding back, still too tense against him and fighting the pleasure to just let go and allow him to take you exactly where you wanted to be.

A twist of your nipple made you yelp, painful pleasure zipping down your spine and festering with the boiling of heat at the base of you. You moaned, relaxing into him all the way. Finally.

“There she is,” he whispered into the skin behind your ear, picking up the tempo of his fingers on your clit and tweaking the nipple that was in his other hands, his fingers slightly wet from a little breastmilk. You blushed harder at the sight, mortified even though you were whining as he pinched and tweaked.

He loved you in every way, in every shape, in every form; but watching you fall apart against him always held a special place in his mind. It was sacred, locked away and only to be looked at unless it was just you both.

“Kento,” you shook out against him, the hand not clenching the arm in your panties shooting up to bury in his hair, fingers tightening in his locks. The muscles in your lower back wound tighter, heat licking your skin, burning your muscles and making you shake against him as your first orgasm in months can brimming to the surface.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Whatever you desire.” His words were whispered sin, dripping like honey on the skin of your neck that had you whining harshly in response and your cunt dripping against his fingers. “But look at me first.”

You obeyed immediately, snapping your gaze to his and swallowing the gasp at the dark gaze staring back at you. Thin rings of brown were hooded, shrouded by thick lashes and a layer of blonde hair over his eyebrows as he leered at you through the mirror. He wasn’t even fingering you and your body was trembling with a release that you knew would be thunderous.

Your eyes honed on the movement of him behind your panties, the fabric rustling with the flex of his fingers as he stroked you once and then twice, pulling that heat of pleasure up from the base of your spine and through your skin. You hiccupped, gasping harshly, arching against him as you buried your head into his shoulder behind you and crying out softly into the air of your bathroom. Your muscles spasmed, squeezing tight in muscle memory as your orgasm washed over you in one hot wave.

He slowed his strokes, tracing gently against your clit and kissing along the side of your throat as you panted against him.

“More.”

Your back rumbled from the tenor of his voice as he chuckled against you, continuing to trace your clit with messy fingers. You whined against the overstimulation even though you could taste the hints of pleasure beneath.

“Tell me what you want.”

You pressed your hand against his still in your underwear, brushing him firmly against your clit and guiding him further, two of his fingers could slide into your entrance with only a little resistance.

He exhaled against you, cock throbbing painfully along the seam of his slacks as you whimpered from his movement inside of you. You whispered his name into the air, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as you pushing his fingers harder into your cunt, silently demanding that he finger you deeper. And like a sirens call, he obeyed you without complaint, sliding another to make three as he pumped over and over, his fingers covered in copious and shocking amounts of your slick, stretching you in the way you wanted so you could demand his cock after another orgasm.

And it didn’t take long before you were arching against him again, squeezing his fingers and pulling a hot groan against the skin of your neck as another orgasm washed over you minutes later, your body sweaty against the clothes he was still wearing. He pressed a searing kiss to the skin of your neck, shaking out a staggering breath against you. He was practically tearing through his slacks, aching and hot against the cleft of your ass as he refrained from rutting against you. You watched with panting breaths as he popped each slick covered finger into his mouth, cleaning the digits with his eyes locked on yours through your reflection. Your stomach gave a heaving lurch at the sight, your mouth opening of its own volition and spilling out the very first thought in your lust addled mind.

“More…please more. I need you.”

He didn’t give it a second thought.

The sound of his zipper and belt coming undone made your heart soar in your chest, your thick and hot blood pumping faster through your veins as you watched him in the mirror. His hair was a mess, free of its typical part and gel and brushing against his eyebrows with movement as he freed himself from the confines of his pants, the cold air making him hiss against the skin of your shoulder.

You leaned forward without having to be told to rest your hands on your bathroom counter, exposing more of his torso to you in the mirror as you got into position. His blue shirt was ruffled, the top buttons still undone and free from a tie as he breathed heavily. The brown slacks had been opened, the zipper and belt askew and his cock hanging hot and thick in between, red at the tip and twitching to be inside of you. He couldn’t help the groan in the back of his throat as he took in the length of your naked back as you stretched out for him, dark curly hair falling over your shoulders as he trailed a hand down your skin.

You jumped from the feel of his lips against the small of your back, kissing up your spine and making your skin prickle with his trailing touch. You turned your head to take in his heated expression, blown out pupils and ruddy cheeks, messy blonde hair and hot hands against your waist before he kissed you for the first time since walking into the house. It was messy and quick, filled with love but desperate to focus back on the task at hand.

“Keep your hands on the counter and don’t look away. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded wordlessly, earning another wet kiss to your lips before one of his hands gripped your chin and turned you gently to face your reflection. The press of him against wet folds made you gasp, your mind suddenly thankful you made Dr. Williams triple check the placement of your IUD after your six week checkup. While you loved Ulani with your entire being, you didn’t want another child anytime soon.

The stretch of him inside you felt like the greatest high, reigniting dormant nerves and zipping electricity along your spine as you moaned softly from the feel of your body making room. It had been too long without him and even though your muscles fought through the stretch, you welcomed him again with a grip that had him groaning softly into the space between your shoulder blades. Your lashes fluttered and your throat struggled to swallow around the saliva pooling in the back of your mouth. So full, so, so full and stretching you to the point until you felt that familiar twinge of pain before it subsided and faded away. The feeling of his hips flush against you made you whimper into the air, your shoulders shaking as you held yourself up.

He started slow, using the signals from your body to guide him into a rhythm that helped you accommodate to him after so long. You kept your eyes open, his demands replaying in your head as you fought through the shame of looking at yourself sweaty and exposed, mouth parted and whimpering as he thrust through wet rings of muscle.

You had read so many stories. Postpartum mothers who couldn’t even enjoy sex almost a year after birth. But thankfully not you. You were so happy that you could enjoy this, so fucking elated that you were dripping and wanting for him, accepting him inside you without dryness or complaint. You thought it would be so much worse. You were lucky, lucky and head in the clouds from two orgasms and a thick cock that you missed so much picking up its pace inside of you.

“You see how beautiful you are to me?”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even begin to form words as that haze of lust and pleasure began to cloud every inch of your mind. The steady strokes of him dug deep, kissing spots inside of you that only he could touch, only he would ever know, only he would be able to pick apart over and over until you were a sobbing, moaning, panting mess.

Dark eyes glinted at you through the mirror, muscular hips delivering a sharp thrust that made you moan in response, your lips parting and teeth catching the plushness of your bottom lip, digging into the flesh hard so you could keep quiet while your daughter slept.

You didn’t have to tell him what spot to touch or what angle to fuck you. He knew, had perfected the art in only a short time, and already that coil of pleasure was tightening like a vice in your stomach, your muscles pulling taught and fingers sliding against the cool marble of your countertop as you tried to ground yourself into the present.

He caught on, he always did, bringing one of your legs up and bending it to rest on the counter, opening yourself up further for him and pulling another loud moan from your lips as your muscles tightened further and further, your cunt squeezing and tightening, milking him for all he was worth as your orgasm teased along every inch of your skin.

“So long, so long since I’ve had you and you’re just as tight. Just as beautiful. Taking me as if no time has passed at all.”

With another harsh thrust, your mind had slipped away entirely, whimpers and moans leaving your lips of their own accord as he began to fuck you with an intensity that had you choking on a hiccup.

“You honestly think I would look at anyone else?”

His voice was dark against you, hot and dominating against your skin. You met his gaze in the mirror, shaking your head quickly in response as your tongue rocked dry and thick in your mouth. Satisfied with your response, he brought one hand to wrap around your upper torso sliding beneath your breasts and pulling you up and against him, arching your back and displaying your entire form into the mirror as he fucked you at a pace that brought stars into your vision.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he whispered into your ear, hot breath puffing and dispelling your hair that was matted to your cheek.

“I’ll never want anyone else. I would tear down the world for you, do anything you asked of me, give you whatever you wanted.”

“Please, please, please,” you were chanting airily against him, body practically limp in his arms and numb with pleasure as he brushed against the spongy wall inside of you, sending jolt after jolt of pleasure through the fluttering cunt around him and to the pool of heat in your lower back. “Oh god, Kento.”

“Tell me how it feels. Tell me what you want from me and I’ll give you it all.”

The demand pulled a shudder against him, your eyes locked with his in the mirror as you molded parted lips to speak.

“Harder…so good. Fucking me so w-well. I can’t—”

“You can.”

A sharp whine shook from your mouth, eyes rolling before meeting his again, moans growing in length as he snapped over and over inside of you, brushing against those spots inside of you with a precision that never failed to make you breathless.

“Stop doubting my love and devotion to you. I’m yours, always. And you’re mine. Always mine. Forever mine.”

You nodded breathlessly, agreeing but unable to speak as moan after moan shook from your dry throat, saliva dried up and tongue thick in the back of your mouth. Your entire body was on fire, your skin sweaty, your lungs burning with each ragged breath that shook from you too soon. You were taut like a wire, each end pulling and pulling, the strands trembling from the force and screaming to snap as he drove up into you.

You couldn’t take much more, the lines of pleasure and overstimulation blurring together and creating a sensation that had left you delirious. You had been cracked open, laid bare with every insecurity since giving birth and forced to realize just how little he agreed, how little believed of the irrational thoughts in your head.

And as if he could read your mind, the hand on your waist slid down to your core, stroking your clit and pulling a jagged yelp out of your throat from the contact.

He knew every tell of your body, your skin carved with the most ancient of languages that only he could read and understand. He was everything you would ever want, everything you would ever need.

Only Kento.

“Tell me.”

It was a demand repeated so often when you both made love. He had to know he was making you feel good, needed to hear the words come from your mouth through staggered breath in a staccato that had become his favorite song. Your words filled him with pride, with love, with satisfaction in knowing he was bringing you to nirvana with the swing of his hips, and the words from his mouth, and his hands on your skin.

From the cadence of his breath against you, you could tell that he was close. You were right there as well, pushed to the edge of the cliff and begging for something to finally tip you over the edge.

“I love the way you fuck me.”

He groaned against you in response, digging his teeth into the crease of your neck and pulling a sharp gasp from you as his thrusts grew more insistent, more rushed, more sloppy.

“More,” he growled, pulling a shudder down your spine.

“You…you always know just what to do. You always know just how I like it. You always can fuck me so well. I love it.”

He could barely see, spots in his vision, his balls drawing tight with each stroke as the promise of an orgasm grew closer with each clench of your walls around him. He was almost there and so were you, so fucking close.

“Oh please Kento—I’m going to cum! Please—”

“What are you?”

“Yours! I’m yours, always! Ken—”

The flicker of the nickname tugged a pleasing jolt behind his belly button. He groaned harshly against you, soft moans fanning over your neck as he slid next to you on that cliff, clasping your hands with his. He stroked your clit faster, applying pressure to the bundle of nerves that had you flinching harshly against him in surprise and another yelp bubbling to the surface. A warm hand clasped over your mouth, covering the noise that left you before it could escape to the open air and waft down to the nursery where Ulani slept.

You cunt spasmed around him, signaling the brief lapse of time before you were ready to let go. He caught on immediately, licking the skin of your ear and biting your earlobe before sighing against you.

“You can do it, love. I can feel you right there. Look me in the eyes and cum on my cock like the sweet little thing you are.”

That was all it took, blown out eyes meeting your own, a large hand covering your mouth, another digging into the flesh of your breasts, and one, two, three fluid and sharp strokes against the sponginess of your walls before you were shaking and drawing tight, eyes fluttering to stay open as you wailed against his hand.

Your eyes clenched shut from the force, the corners prickling with faint tears from the strength as you moaned against him. Your orgasm was stronger than the last two, yanking what little energy you had left and leaving exhaustion in its wake as your muscles bunched and contracted against each other, hot pleasure oozing along the crevices of your vertebrae and pooling to cooling lava at the base of your spine.

The feel of you around him pushed him over, his hands tightening against your breast and over your mouth before pushing one last sharp thrust inside of you, his teeth digging into your neck and a harsh moan thrumming against the skin as his cock twitched violently before spilling inside the heat of your weakening walls.

You whined into the hand on your mouth, panting against his clothed form as his hand slipped away and his forehead pressed into the sweaty skin of your neck. The feel of him breathing against you and the smell of his cologne caressed your twitching muscles, leaving you exhausted but so satisfied that you couldn’t help the small smile that pulled on your lips.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you felt Kento’s lips against your neck and shoulder, his own dying breaths making the sweat cool on your skin. He slid out of you slowly, rubbing your arm in comfort as you winced a little from the exit. His hand was in yours before you could say anything, guiding you to the toilet and plopping you down, shooting you an arched eyebrow in silent command as he turned around to clean himself up.

The familiar embers of his aftercare routine roared to life, giving you a little privacy so you could pee and wash your hands before he was hovering and fussing with practiced hands. He disappeared into your closet, coming back with one of his t-shirts and shrugging it on you before manhandling you again to face the mirror. You bit down the urge to laugh, your heart pumping with warmth and satisfaction as he braided your hair and slid on your bonnet. A kiss to each shoulder, firm hands rubbing the muscles of your thighs and back, and a glass of water that he made you drink, staying rooted to his spot and eyes locked on yours until you complied.

Satisfied with his work, he turned you around to face him, softness radiating through the familiar seriousness in his stare and a small smile curling on his lips as he leaned down to press slightly chapped lips to yours. When he pulled away, you opened your mouth to speak, hesitating over a sudden rush of vulnerability before you smiled up at him.

“Thank you, for being you.”

He didn’t respond, content to stroke the skin of your cheek with a thumb before he was pulling you close, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you tight against him. His throat was tight as he swallowed, the backs of his eyes stinging and eyelids blinking away tears before they could form as the lilac scent from your body wash and intoxication aroma of the shea butter against your neck drifted up his nose.

Ulani’s cries through the baby monitor on your vanity rung in the air, slicing through the happy moment and pulling a tired giggle from you before he was leaning down again to press another kiss to your lips.

“I’ll get her,” he whispered, stroking the skin of your cheek once more before slipping away.

And almost an hour later, when it was well past midnight as he slumped into bed and pulled you close, his eucalyptus shampoo from slightly damn hair hitting your senses, you found that those tendrils of anxiety and insecurity had died down to an almost undetectable level.

Earlier today you had walked into your house on the verge of tears, nerves frayed with anxiety and body shaking with jealousy, irrational implications and insecurities.

And by the end of the night, he had reassured you in a way that only he could, caressed you and loved you in a way that no man would ever be able to.

As he mumbled a tired goodnight against the skin of your neck and began to snore not even two minutes later, you realized that Kento wasn’t going anywhere without you.

#Nanami kento #Kento nanami #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami Kento x black reader #Nanami Kento x black fem reader #nanami x you #Nanami Kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #It Had To Be You #mysteria157 #anime x black reader #Nanami Kento fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk x black reader #Nanami Kento smut #jjk au #masterlist #It Had To Be You masterlist

[mysteria157]

Chapter 18

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~13k (it’s a long one)

CW: angst, fluff, profanity, explicit sexual content, mental illness (anxiety and grief)

Summary: You keep Nanami afloat on the anniversary of Yu’s death. Nanami finally works up the courage on a warm day of Sakura season. 

Notes: Thank you to all who have been supportive so far. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated <3 One more chapter and I’m so sad to let it go. But happy reading and I hope you enjoy!

Divider: @cafekitsune

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It Had To Be You Masterlist (Complete)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

You had a feeling today would be rough. 

You could tell from Kento’s behavior the day prior. His typically reserved nature seemed even more pronounced in your interactions. There was a heaviness to his indifferent gaze, a solemnness that lingered whenever he fixed his eyes on something for too long.

He had given up trying to hide his emotions from you long ago. You knew the reason of his shift in demeanor. Why pretend? You could sense his unease intensifying, like a silent wave rising in dark waters, growing with every passing second and on the verge of carrying him away at a moment’s notice. 

So you made sure to wake up before him, and when you took in his form as he slept, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle fractures emerging. 

This time, no snores escaped from his lips, and the absence of the sound somehow punctuated the deepening sadness that had begun to envelop him the day before. Your eyes traversed the contours of his bare back, tracing the sinewy lines of his muscular arms tucked beneath the pillow cradling his head. He lay facing you, his cheek indented by the press of his pillow against it, his disheveled blonde locks cascading messily across his forehead and cheeks. Blonde lashes delicately brushed the lower rimes of his eyes, and his back gently rose and fell in rhythm with slow breaths. 

To anyone else, he was a handsome man sleeping. But to you, you could tell he was fighting. Even in slumber, devoid of any waking expression, you could still see faint traces of sorrow seeping through his pores.  

You had a feeling today would be rough.

After all, who could cope well on the anniversary of their best friend’s death? 

For as strong and resilient as Kento was, you knew he couldn’t. 

So you did your best to distract him. You asked him to help with breakfast—a task he normally tried to do without you having to say much. And that small task seemed to help him divert his focus from Yu, if only for a moment. You kept him engaged, kept him talking as you both ate together and Ulani smashed waffle strips into her mouth.

And luckily, he didn’t fend off any of your attempts of distraction the entire day. Even though he was quieter than usual, the smile that he shot your way was just as genuine and loving. You pulled him out of the house with Ulani to meet Kaya and Aiko at the park. It would be good to get him out of the house, to let him breathe fresh air to dispel the toxic emotions that lingered within him. 

He seemed okay.

At least he did now as you watched him from your perch under a canopy of leaves against the oak tree you laid against. He stood tall amidst the sea of other children in the space of the tranquil park, Ulani in his arms and Aiko perched on his shoulders. Her hands were buried in his blonde locks, uncaring of messing them up as she giggled loudly in response to whatever he was speaking up to her. For now, that grief had settled into a low simmer, his deep eyes filled with mirth as he joked with the two girls wrapped around him. 

“Uncle Ken! Uncle Ken! Do the thing! Do it!” Aiko giggled excitedly, unable to contain her joy as she wriggled atop his shoulders.

Kento hummed playfully, gently squeezing Ulani’s cheeks until she squealed in his embrace. “The thing? Aiko, you’ll have to use your words. I can’t read your mind,” he goaded, making Aiko giggle even harder, face blushing with ceaseless laughter.

“The thing!” she whined, smiling down at him as he continued to play with his daughter.

“The thing. The thing. Hmmm.” He pretended to ponder for a moment, pursing his lips. 

Aiko’s giggles stopped short when Kento grabbed her ankle and lifted her off his shoulders, dangling her upside down while still holding his babbling daughter with the other arm. Aiko pealed with laughter, the sound echoing through the park, bouncing against the plastic of the playground they stood at. Kento chuckled softly, slowly spinning in a circle as he delighted in Aiko’s please for more.

As you watched them, your back leaning against the trunk of the thick oak tree, butterflies quivered to life in your stomach. It was a moment you never imagined you would experience. In the past, you had weakly clutched onto a desire for children, a partner—a family. But work always consumed your time, leaving little room for anything that you could do for yourself. It all seemed like a distant dream, just like your passion for a career in ceramics.

But seeing Kento now, watching him rearrange Aiko and lift her so she could wrap small hands around monkey bars, you couldn’t help but feel thankful for falling into that 1% of faulty birth control. Even with an IUD and a condom, you still ended up pregnant. And maybe it was fate because Kento was a wonderful father. Once that mask of his had fallen, and his glares had slowly morphed into soft, rare smiles and longing glances, you could see just how much of him would foster the wonderful father he had become.

You couldn’t help but think about more with him. You couldn’t help but imagine vacations across the world with your little family. You couldn’t help but imagine him working at the bakery in the mornings, teaching Ulani how to knead bread and man the register, throwing off his apron as soon as he walked into the house and pressing a tired yet loving kiss to your lips. 

Over a year ago, the ease with which you had settled into domesticity with Kento would have made you uncomfortable. But with him, it felt as natural as breathing. He blended effortlessly into your life; his presence seamlessly woven into the fabric of your being. 

Watching him leave Aiko’s side so she could play on her own, his strong arms wrapped around his daughter as he showered her light brown cheeks with kisses—your breath caught in your chest.

You wanted more.

It was an ever-present thought in your mind. It nagged at you with each kiss that he craved to have each day. It whispered in your mind every night as you drifted off to sleep and as you woke up by his side. It lingered in your thoughts during shared dinners with the three of you, and it grew more pronounced every time your gaze shifted to his left hand, unsettling you with the absence of a ring. 

Part of your soul wanted to recoil at the thought. The mere mention of fantasizing about marriage would have made your women’s studies professor burn every letter of recommendation she gave you. But the other part of you relished in it. Because if there was a way to tie yourself to Kento, you would do it in a second.

“Lost in thought?” Kaya’s voice broke through the haze, jolting you back to reality. You blinked and refocused, finding her reclining on the tree trunk beside you, her legs stretched out in front of her. “You’ve been zoned out for a good ten minutes.”

Instead of answering her, you deflected, not quite comfortable sharing your thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

Kaya took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with a heavy weight. “Surprisingly fine. Well, as fine as one can be on a day like this.” Aiko called out for Kento’s attention, and Kaya smiled softly as she watched her play on the monkey bars. 

“Uncle Ken, watch me!”

“I’m watching. I’m watching.”

“I miss him so much…he was everything to me,” Kaya whispered. The pain in her voice made your own chest tighten as you tried to put yourself in her shoes. You couldn’t imagine losing Kento. You couldn’t even fathom the thought of Ulani having to grow up without a father like him. “That pain will always be there. But it’s gotten a little easier to deal with.” Kaya waved at her daughter, answering Aiko’s loud call for attention, and chuckled softly to herself. 

You hoped Kento could say the same. You hoped his pain had reached a level where he could find get through today without drowning.

You just hoped you were doing well to help.

Eventually, Kento made his way to where you and Kaya were seated on the blanket, nestled beneath the canopy of leaves. He gently placed Ulani on the soft fabric and delighted in watching her crawl towards you, her cheeks rosy from laughter, her mouth glistening with drool, and her wild curls tousled by the wind. As he slid down the tree to settle himself next to you, he turned his head, pressing a tender kiss to your temple, filling you with a burst of warmth. You took that touch with you and nestled it inside of your chest in the hope that it was a manifestation of just how content he felt in that very moment.

In the afternoon, you found yourself surrounded by the rest of your friends—Gojo, Shoko, Geto and Ome—all laughing loudly and picking out items on a menu that were Yu’s favorite, inside of a restaurant that he loved. The gentle look in Kento’s eyes surprisingly had yet to fall. Even as your friends told stories of moments shared with Yu, as the history grew more intimate and somber, he remained steady. 

He was more tense as you all sat together afterward beneath Yu’s tree, offering their own bits of peace and well wishes at his resting place. When it was Kento’s turn, he chose to stay silent, and no one pressed him to speak. Gojo didn’t tease him, Geto’s gaze didn’t linger too long, and you shifted closer to him, cradling Ulani in your arms as she peacefully slept. 

When everyone finally departed for home, Kento remained rooted to his spot, his serious eyes fixed on the small nameplate that bore Yu’s name and the dates of his birth and passing. The April evening grew colder, but the warmth emanating from Kento’s wool trench coat provided some comfort as you waited for him to speak.

But he didn’t. And as more minutes passed, you began to feel as if he probably never would. You observed the delicate lines of his eyebrows furrowing, the weariness painting his voice as he finally broke the silence. 

“I’m not really sure of what to say,” he admitted, his words heavy with fatigue and pain. “Is that bad?”

“No. The fact that you’re even here is more than enough, Ken,” you reassured him, but he seemed unsatisfied. His brow creased deeper, and a faint frown began to etch its way onto his face. “You can tell him about your day. Tell him about Gojo ordering three lava cakes after dinner and scarfing them down in two minutes. Tell him that Ulani is starting to eat more solid foods and how she loves yogurt but isn’t a fan of peas.” 

The small huff of laughter that you were seeking finally fell from him, puffed into the air in a warm exhale that made you feel a little less frigid. Kento looked over at you, his furrowed brow softening slightly.

“The point is, it doesn’t have to be grandiose. And I’m sure Yu would hate that you had to force yourself to speak when you weren’t ready. So…” you trailed off, adjusting Ulani in your arms so she was snugly wrapped in your wool coat, her warm body providing solace against the cold. Reaching out, you found Kento’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “So we can just sit here and just…be.”

He glanced down at your joined hands, his burnt-umber gaze tracing the delicate curves of your fingers. You watched as they softened when his gaze fell on the bundle sleeping in your coat, watched as his shoulders relaxed with his next exhale and his irises slid up to catch yours.

“So we can just…be. Here together. Me and you?” 

His voice was weak, revealing an exposed vulnerability that made him seem raw and open. You knew deep down that he understood you would never leave him in a moment like this, but right now, Kento needed the reassurance.

And you freely gave it, offering a gentle squeeze of his hand and a warm smile. “Me and you,” you affirmed, allowing that serious gaze, etched into your memory, to momentarily flash with resolution. It seemed as if something he had been contemplating for a long time had finally come full circle.

But the moment flickered away in an instant, replaced by Kento’s tender gesture of lifting your hand to his, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, and giving the cold air one more weary exhale before turning his gaze back to Yu’s tree, finding solace amidst the silence.

***

Sakura season in Nakameguro was one of the most treasured in Tokyo. And you could understand why. Even though you and Kento had arrived early at the Meguro River, the streets lining the river were teeming with both tourists and locals.

Amidst the bustling crowds and long lines at every vendor you passed, the beauty of the cherry blossom trees in full bloom couldn’t be denied. Delicate white petals, emerged from their buds, and billowed in the surprisingly warm late April air. The water was still, casting a reflection of the trees that arched over it, cherry blossoms floating on top.

Growing up in Sendai, you were used to wearing a Yukata with Ome and her family for Hanami. Each year, you made an effort to find a different color, and during the times when you couldn’t buy one for yourself, Ome’s mother would kindly gift one to you, knowing your own mother didn’t bother with the tradition. 

But in Nakameguro, everyone who walked past you was dressed in casual clothes, bundled for a little extra warmth, and armed with cameras to capture the festivities. You settled for a long dress instead. Ulani, her legs kicking excitedly in the carrier strapped to Kento’s chest, donned a pink onesie designed to resemble a kimono, a thoughtful gift from Chiyo. Ulani of course, looked absolutely adorable. Her abundant light brown curls framed her face, secured by a small headband to keep them out of her eyes. Kento had insisted on taking countless photos before you even left the house and unlike most babies who made their irritation known, Ulani flourished in the attention her father gave.

At nine months old, Ulani brimmed with energy and an insatiable curiosity that made her father understandably nervous. She babbled in a string of syllables, not yet forming coherent words, but her enthusiasm was limitless. Despite her animated exclamations and her tendency to explore everything she could reach, she observed the world around her with a gaze that mirrored her father’s—sharp, serious, and seemingly indifferent, except for the frequent bursts of squeals and laughter. Just like her father. 

Meanwhile, said father was too busy exploring the food stalls to notice the intrigued gazes of everyone around him.

You wanted to be annoyed but…could you blame them? 

Kento, despite his awkwardness in social situations with unfamiliar faces, exuded nothing but sin. Sinewy legs clad in crisp slacks, accentuating his muscular frame, and a ribbed knit sweater hugged his torso in a delicious way that made your mouth water. His thick blonde locks, styled in their signature fashion, were neatly gelled, although he had once again forgone his glasses.

Too handsome for his own good but you didn’t have the energy to glare at everyone. He had freely given you more than enough in the shower that morning.

You could behave. For now.

“What was Hanami like for you in Sendai?” he asked, his voice hushed yet resonating in the bustling atmosphere around you. His gaze fixated on a skewer of Dango—an assortment of pink, green, and white as Ulani occupied herself with a sliver of banana, her sticky fingers and puckered mouth evidence of her snack.

“More traditional than this,” you replied, accepting the Dango from the vendor before turning to him. Kento’s eyes widened minutely in curiosity, his foodie nature front and center. He plucked a Dango from the stick and popped it into his mouth, savoring the sweet and chewy rice morsel that burst with flavor on his tongue. 

“Sendai has a small-town feel within a big city. During Sakura season, we wore Yukatas and Getas. We had a cherry blossom tree lighting and much fewer stalls with local goods,” you elaborated, pulling a playful grumble from Kento as he tore another piece of Dango in half and offered it to a grabby Ulani.

“So the city of Sendai gets to see you in a Yukata, and I don’t? I find that unfair,” he protested with a teasing tone, cheeks flushing slightly in a rare display of bashfulness. 

“If this is some sort of Edo-period fantasy you have, you’re gonna have to warm me up before you ask me to get kinky.”

Kento choked on a piece of Dango, sputtering and red face as he waved his hand toward you. “That’s not—"

“Nanamin!” a familiar voice called from behind you. Kento’s surprise instantly faded, already recovered from choking and face replaced by a natural annoyance as Gojo approached. Towering over the crowd, his white hair enhancing his pale complexion, Gojo was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, simple to anyone else but still stamped with a designer label. “Don’t pout, this is a happy occasion! I always want to see you. For once, show me that you love me,” he joked, chuckling more to himself before beaming at Ulani. “And hello, my beautiful girl! How about we go find something sweet to eat?” Without hesitation, he scooped Ulani from the carrier, ignoring Kento’s grunt of disapproval. 

“Ask first, Gojo. Don’t snatch my daughter like a thief,” Kento snapped, reaching for her and blanching when Gojo pulled your daughter out of his reach.

“I’m her godfather.”

“How you equate that with permission to do what you want, is beyond me.”

Gojo turned to you, alien blue eyes seeking support that he would never find. You rolled your eyes. “Gojo, stop bothering Kento and ask before you pick up Ulani.” Handing him the diaper bag, you added, “Keep your phone on and only give her foods that we talked about. No experimenting.”

“But—”

“Would you like me to tell Ome that you no longer are the godfather to our child?” Gojo immediately frowned, his gaze resembling that of a child denied candy, before grumbling and walking away. 

Kento rolled his eyes, tightening the empty carrier closer to himself and muttering his annoyance in a way that made you hold back a snicker. 

“It’s Gojo being Gojo. He loves Ulani.”

“He’s rude,” Kento tried to argue.

“And yet, you love him.” He didn’t disagree, his cheeks ruddy in embarrassment as he sighed and fumbled with the strap of his Cartier watch. “This is your stomping ground so how about we take this small moment we both have and have some fun, hmm?” You leaned up, standing on your toes to press a warm kiss to his cheek that seemed to settle his pout. He sighed dramatically, lacing his fingers with yours, and pulled you along the street.

You both savored every moment of your time together. Most of this year, your time with one another was spent caring for Ulani or navigating the challenges and discomforts of your pregnancy. Now, with your daughter under the care of her eccentric godfather, Kento could pull you along from vendor to vendor, immersing you in the vibrant atmosphere.

He complained teasingly as you both picked through a bento, remarking how your tomagoyaki and grilled fish was far superior to what the vendor had prepared. He brought you to a small stand that sold Cherry Blossom cookies, sharing that it was a place he frequented every year during his youth. He entertained a kiss on your cheek as you snapped a picture of you both in front of the river. Later in the day, as Ome and Gojo joined you again, Kento bought the three portions of Inari Sushi, eating his portion swiftly before Gojo could sneak his hands onto the plate.

“Nanamin, stop being unfair!”

Kento couldn’t deny that he was truly enjoying himself. Even his quips to Gojo lacked its usual sharpness. Between the two of you, you always brought the most energy and liveliness. You laughed freely, indulged in every snack Kento offered you from the stalls, and unabashedly leaned into him, wrapping your arm around his and resting your head on his shoulder, cherishing his warmth as he joked with an always loud Ome. 

He was happy and content and surprised at his own luck. 

Gojo insisted on stopping at a vendor selling woven flower accessories made from fallen cherry blossoms. Gojo pulled Ome close, ignoring her protests as he demanded a bracelet be crafted in front of him before paying. Kento felt you chuckle from next to him, no doubt taking in the way Ome blushed as Gojo wrapped his arm around her, no longer caring if the action would earn violence. Because Gojo knew, deep down, that things had changed between them. And Ome knew, deep down, that violence would make him work harder.

Normally, Kento wouldn’t pay much attention to this particular vendor every year. He didn’t consider it significant because he never had someone to give a flower accessory to, and his father always bought one for his mother. But he had a reason to now. As he made to reach into his pocket for his wallet, he stopped short when he saw one of the vendors grab your wrist and pull you towards an empty chair next to the stall. 

You were a little shocked, already put off from having a person touch you freely, but you reeled in disbelief when the vendor reached for your loose curls, your head arching away from her on reflex. Kento felt anger flare in his chest, a rage he rarely felt bubbling to the surface, his mouth opening to bark at the woman to leave. However, she quickly stopped and held up a bundle of flowers, gesturing towards your hair and asking if she could weave them in.

“Would you like to go?” Kento asked you, unable to hide the fury in his eyes. “We can if you’re uncomfortable.” He watched your eyes flicker to the woman as she bowed softly in apology and you sighed softly, relaxing and offering a weak smile to the woman instead.

“I’m fine, Ken. I promise.”

It took him a minute more to be completely content with your response. But he let Gojo pull him away, across the skinny street to rest against the rail outlining the Meguro River, Kento’s eyes never leaving yours. Ulani squirmed in her carrier around his chest, fidgeting and whining in frustration as she took in the distance from you. As the woman began weaving cherry blossoms into your and Ome’s hair, you waved at your daughter from across the street, the unique bond between you tugging at your heart. 

“Mrs. Nanami always looks beautiful, doesn’t she?” Gojo remarked from beside Kento, as he pulled a piece of Dango from a skewer that mysteriously appeared in his hand. 

Always.

The word lingered on Kento’s tongue, tempted to acknowledge Gojo’s statement but knowing it would only lead to a slew of immature comments. The title he had given you wasn’t lost to Kento either, because he thought about it so frequently that it was beginning to drive him insane.

Nowadays he felt like such a fool when he stood next to you. Any other man would have gotten on their knees within months—weeks of having you as theirs and begged for more. 

And he wanted to, desperately. But if there was one thing you could do without trying, it was make him nervous. Make him sweat and shift in his shoes because he didn’t deserve you. No one did. You had chosen him, but he could be replaced at any moment despite your protests otherwise.

A vendor who had finished working on Ome’s hair walked across the street towards Kento, her hands filled with cherry blossoms. She politely asked if she could weave them into Ulani’s hair. Kento allowed it, absentmindedly caressing his daughter’s chubby cheek to keep her distracted as he watched her giggle and babble with the woman. 

The white flowers perfectly adorned her hair, creating a delicate halo against her light brown curls. Gojo showered her with compliments, leaning down to her eye level and sharing a bright smile as Ulani giggled in response.

Kento should have been paying more attention, his heart should have swelled with joy at the sight of his daughter’s happiness. But he was distracted, his voice thick in his throat. As the vendor returned to her stand, Kento took notice of you. The cherry blossoms adorning your hair seemed as if they belonged there, nestled delicately within your loose curls that he had the privilege of running his hands through time and time again. They were arranged with exquisite precision, made to look as if they floated within a sea of darkness. 

He felt it again, that same feeling that had been consuming his thoughts for months— that had blared to the point of a headache a few weeks ago as you both sat together at Yu’s tree. That heaviness in his pocket suddenly felt hot, burning the skin of his thigh, screaming at him to stop being such a coward.

Kento locked eyes with you from across the street, familiar irises that he looked at every single day that had never failed to be any less beautiful than the day before. And like he so often saw, you threw him a lift of your brow, a mischievous glint in your stare that made his chest clench and a chuckle rise from the pit of his stomach.

“Tell your daddy to set the date,” Gojo spoke to his goddaughter, earning a glare from Kento and a harsh bark to leave him alone, batting at the snickering white-haired man as he crossed the street for Ome.

***

From the moment you walked to him after having flowers woven into your hair, Kento was noticeably less talkative than before. He chalked it up to the increased traffic of people around you both, but you could see through him as always. Although his smiles and laughter remained genuine, he seemed timid and nervous.

By the time you all made it home, Ulani was exhausted and fussy. Kento volunteered to bathe her and put her to bed, leaving you alone with your anxious thoughts. You tidied up the house, neatly putting away Ulani’s toys, folding the throw blanket back onto the sofa, and walking to the backdoor to make sure it was locked. Your eyes caught the moonlight that brightened your backyard.

This year’s winter had been harsh and unforgiving, but despite its grip, Spring made the grass grow back plentiful and thick. Kento had installed a swinging bench for you soon after Ulani was born so you could sway outside with her in peace, but it’s been months since you sat yourself on it. 

But it was nice enough now, and you couldn’t resist the call of the warm evening and found yourself sliding open the door, carrying yourself towards the darkly stained bench. As you settled onto its solid surface, you began to sway gently, soaking up the silence of the air around you, the neighborhood quiet as everyone settled for sleep. 

Maybe Kento had a headache. He avoided large crowds and noise for that very reason. Stupidity and rudeness frustrated him more than Gojo at times, and he was quick to grow impatient with the desire to be in the privacy of his home with his small family. He probably put on a smile and suffered through a lot more for you to enjoy Hanami. 

Your mind was racing with thoughts and excuses to justify his shift in behavior, growing more anxious and desperate by the minute. You felt your heart give a painful lurch, your neck began to sweat, and your hands began to tremble. Those dreadful tendrils of anxiety once again began to cackle in your ears and wrap slowly around your throat.

He’s going to break up with you. He’s going to walk out here and say how he couldn’t do this anymore. He’s going to try to do whatever he could to justify his only choice to leave you. The teasing had finally gotten too much for him. The grip of fatherhood too consuming to bear and—

You were restless, shooting up from the bench and making your way to the middle of your backyard. The soft, cool grass cushioned your steps and brushed against the thin fabric of your dress as you laid down, your eyes too sensitive of the full moon but still strong enough to appreciate the faint stairs twinkling in the sky.

“Don’t be so stupid,” you whispered to yourself. “He wouldn’t leave. Not like this.”

Bending your knees and sinking your toes into the grass, you grounded yourself into the present, rooted yourself in sanity and detaching from the haunting whispers in your ears.

The sound of the backdoor sliding open momentarily caused you to tense, but you kept your gaze fixated on the sky, attempting to identify constellations with your limited knowledge of astronomy.

The big dipper? Orion’s belt? Fuck, Sagittarius?

You had never been more envious of an astronomer in this very moment as Kento sank into the grass next to you, placing the baby monitor between you both, the low hum of static breaking through the quiet air. 

“She was exhausted,” he murmured. You hummed in reply, still lost in your own thoughts and trying to figure out if the object in front of you was a star or just a trick of the light. Your distracted response pulled his attention to you. “Are you okay?”

You bit the inside of your lip, your eyes still on the stars above you. “Have I done something to upset you? After the flower vendor, you got really quiet for the rest of the day.”

He didn’t respond at first, and your heart picked up in speed from the growing silence even as he sagged on his back next to you, his eyes tracing the stars in the sky.

“I could never be upset with you.”

“Lies. If you’re going to leave me, soften the blow by giving me an orgasm first so I’m not so upset.”

He chuckled softly, a spirited smile dancing on his lips as he eyed a small cluster of stars. “Since the moment you allowed me to be involved in the pregnancy, the thought of leaving you has never crossed my mind,” he confessed. “Even on the days when we’re exhausted and we argue, or when we crave solitude, the idea of leaving you, of not having you in my life, is inconceivable to me.”

“Inconceivable?” you pestered, nudging him with your elbow. “Such strong words.”

“You tease me relentlessly, would you like me to stop speaking?” he reproached, a smile in his voice. You bit back a laugh, choosing instead to weave your fingers between his in the space of grass between you in a silent concession to behave. “You have no idea how impossible it is for me to forget about you,” he continued. “Even when we couldn’t stand each other, you were all I thought about. I drove my mother crazy, ranting almost every day about how frustrated I was. And when the idea of becoming a father initially shocked me, knowing that it connected me to you brought me such an overwhelming satisfaction.”

Kento gave your intwined hands a squeeze.

“I’ve been in my own head these past few hours…and I’m sorry if I seemed distant with you. It’s important to me that you know that leaving you is inconceivable to me because I can’t imagine raising a child with anyone else. I can’t envision going to sleep or waking up beside anyone else. I can’t fathom a future without you by my side.”

You heart fluttered in your chest, thumping erratically against your ribcage as his words floated through the night air and landed on your cheeks. A soothing stillness settled between the two of you, as the moonlight bathed your skin and you struggled to swallow the quickly forming lump in your throat. Those tendrils of anxiety that had wrapped around you earlier suddenly dissipated, leaving only a lingering sense of love and certainty from his hand between yours.

“So what you’re saying is that you wanna grow old with me?” you playfully quipped, a smile spreading across your face. “You wanna get travel the world with me, get a bigger house and have babies? Marry me and honeymoon on an island that you always talk about?” 

You turned your head to face him, observing his flushed cheeks and slightly widened eyes as he looked up at the night sky. Though he didn’t appear afraid, that nervous expression from earlier in the day had once again returned and painted his features. You sat up immediately, scooting closer to him and furrowing your brows in worry. 

“Ken? I was only kidding. I’m sorry, I took that too far didn’t I?” 

Once again, he remained silent, a silence that stretched on for too long, intensifying your unease. But then, a strong arm wrapped around you, pulling you onto his lap so that your legs bracketed his waist. He sat up slowly, closing the distance between you both until you felt your back brush against his knees that were bent to hold you against him. 

You kept your gaze away from him, focusing on the strands of your curls that had fallen over your shoulder, decorated with the cherry blossoms from earlier. 

“I should stop teasing you so much. I’ve done it a little too much today and—”

“My love,” he interrupted, his voice gentle yet resolute, silencing your anxious ramblings. “That is what I was trying to say.” Your hands squeezed a thick chunk of your hair tightly, the soft white petals crushed against your palm as your nerves tingled with anticipation. “I do want to grow old with you. I do want to travel the world and go on adventures with you. I do want to get a bigger house. I want to one day have more children. I want every mundane activity, every birthday and holiday, everything. And yes…” His finger delicately lifted your chin, compelling you to look up at him. Your ears buzzed, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else, even though you could still hear him perfectly. “I want to marry you...and honeymoon on one of those islands that I talk so much about.”

Your eyes widened, face flushing from the heat that had bubbled beneath your cheeks, hands clutching your hair tightly to steady yourself as much as you could. 

“N-now you’re teasing,” you whispered, smiling weakly up at him, all pretense of your typical defense suddenly drained.

Serious eyes studied you, softly contemplating a variety of choices before he stood, picked you up and set you on your feet. He towered over you, his face illuminated by the moonlight, casting a pale blue glow on his sharp cheek bones and shadows through the long strands that fell over his eyebrows. His hair was no longer parted, cascading messily against his cheeks.

Reaching up, he slid a warm palm along your cheek, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. His touch was always too much and yet just enough. It made you feel as if you were drowning and also at the top of a mountain. The resolute look you had caught weeks ago, as you both sat under Yu’s tree, could still be seen in his eyes—strong and vibrant, washing over you now with a realization too overpowering for your doubts to suppress.

“I can assure you, I am in no way teasing,” he finally spoke, tender and filled with longing. He stopped tracing your lips, slid his hand along the side of your neck and down the expanse of your arm before twining his fingers once again with yours. “Maybe I should be a little more convincing.” 

The sting behind your eyes came without warning. You swallowed, attempting to push that lump again back down your throat; blinked furiously as your vision began to blur and willed your heart to keep beating as you watched him press a kiss to your knuckles before slowly sinking down on one knee into the grass. 

You brain struggled to keep up, failing to send the right signals to prevent the tears from falling, to ease the tension in your throat, to simply breathe. 

But it was no use, because after the first tear fell, the rest came without restraint. Even with his hand firmly holding yours, you felt as if you were falling. Plummeting from the night sky back into your body over and over again as he whispered your full name into the warm April air, squeezing your hand once more to tether you to him, and offering you that rarely seen gentle smile before asking you once more. 

Properly, firmly and without reservation.

“Will you marry me?”

And it was real. This was real and you were blinking down at him wildly so you could see his beautiful face clearly through your sea of tears. You couldn’t find the words to speak—no matter how many times your reply raced from your brain to your lips, you couldn’t command your mouth to move. 

So you nodded. Slowly and with a wobbly lip, you nodded. His own lips twitched with a brief smile, his eyes flashing with heavy multitudes of happiness even though he squeezed your hand again to hold you steady.

“I need you to actually say something to me…please—”

“Yes,” you whispered, shaky and croaking from your throat of its own volition. You shook out a harsh breath, smiling down at him. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Kento.”

It took him a moment too long to actually process your response before he exhaled so deeply as though the breath had been stuck in his lungs. A rare and pearly white Nanami Kento smile, brighter than the moonlight bathing his skin, shining at you as he stood up and pulled you close with a force that made you gasp, your mouth opening to let out a laugh before he captured it with a kiss. Full, deep and overpowering, his cheeks brushing against the wetness of your own, leeching oxygen from you until you had to pull away to catch your breath, lightheaded and panting against his lips. 

In your haze, you hadn’t noticed him pull a small object from his pocket, but you felt the cold metal slip onto your finger, adjusting his hand so that you could finally see. And it was beautiful, of course it was beautiful—simple yet perfectly suited for you, a blatant reminder that it would remain on your hand for the rest of your life as long as you allowed it. 

“For the first time, I’ve finally figured out what it takes to render you speechless,” he teased even though his own voice was thick with emotion. “Imagine the things I will get for you now.”

Your gut reaction was to smack him hard on the chest, relishing in the deep chuckles that reverberated from him and into the Nakameguro air. 

“Stop teasing,” you whined, sniffing pathetically as the tears began to fall again.

“My, my,” he purred, chuckling deeply and pulling you closer with strong arms around your waist. You curled your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, weakly glaring up at him without any embarrassment of the rivers running down your cheeks. “You are telling me to stop teasing? Proposing months ago would have been more beneficial for me.”

You hated being on the other end of something that you naturally dished out. In this moment, you were already vulnerable and raw for him, your chest aching and cut open and your heart pounding in the evening air. His teasing felt like icing on the cake, a lightheartedness that was rarely seen in such abundance, leaving you struggling to find your footing. Trying to fight against the fast rhythm of your heart, the overwhelming tears, and his deep laughter as he tilted your head up to look at him.

“Ken—” you tried to admonish, but once again his lips met yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. Gasping, you felt him scoop you up in his arms and carry you back inside the house. Your chest ached for air, yearning to fill your lungs with oxygen that Kento continuously stole. The heat of his fingertips digging into the skin of your thighs around his waist seared your senses, and you could taste the sudden, pungent want against the tongue that slid against yours. 

You didn’t expect to be on the ground so soon and the cool hardwood floors on your feet and your wobbly legs made you stagger backward with him, your fingers still buried in his shirt as your mouths continued to slide sloppily against one another. You gasped sharply when your hips met the countertop of your vanity, the mirror smacking against your back.

Kento wasted no time, and you felt like you were burning with his touch, catching on fire with every grab against your skin and hiss of breath along the wetness of your lips. Hot hands were suddenly hiking up your dress, digging into the meat of your inner hips and tracing sinfully along the seam of your panties. 

You only had a moment to breathe, only a second to get your bearings as he pulled away and swiftly removed your dress, sliding his hands behind you to deftly unfasten your bra, and scooping you up again before throwing you onto your bed. 

You blinked up at him in shock, your breath catching in your throat as you took in his heated expression at the foot of the bed. He was always a passionate lover, always vocal about his desire to have his hands on you—but the expression directed at you now was carnal, so incredibly carnal that your cunt throbbed in response, sliding against the steadily moistening spot of the fabric that covered it. 

Kento had promised himself he would be calm; he had so much planned in his head if you would have accepted him. Truly he thought he would have cried—because he’s that type of man.

But the moment you said yes, the moment he slid that ring on your finger and could see a booming sign that you were his, all sense of decorum had evaporated from his body immediately.

He had thrown caution to the wind, driving him to yank off his shirt and practically rip his zipper as he pushed down his pants and underwear. He hissed softly from the feel of cool air hitting his cock, hot and heavy and leaking precum already. Without your usual words of impatience, he used your moans instead as his guide, fueling his courage as he trailed a wet tongue up the thickness of your thighs, dipping into your belly button and around the underside of your breast before encircling a peaked nipple once—twice before pulling it into his mouth. Your hands were tight in his hair, your body arching in exquisite anticipation, drawing your breasts further into his eager mouth as he licked, sucked and bit at the sensitive skin. 

You could only nod when he reached for your panties moments later and you didn’t shy away from the way your thighs trembled as he pulled them down your legs, his mouth salivating at the sight of slick catching against your inner thigh. The heat between your legs hit him first, his cock throbbing in automatic response, his mouth swallowing drool as he stared at your exposed cunt, wet and dripping for him. 

You had never met a man who took joy in eating you out. They did it to get you ready or because it was expected. But not Kento—god, not Kento. You’re the best thing he would ever have. His last meal. That first drink after being stranded in a desert. He did it because he loved it and wasted no time yanking your hips to him and throwing your legs over his shoulders before he was feasting—savoring the taste of your cunt and the sound of your moans as you arched your hips closer to him. 

You keened, pulling hard against his tresses as he sank two fingers inside of you down to the knuckle, delving deep in a rhythm that sent tingles of pleasure crawling up your legs and to the base of your spine. Your body trembled, your chest heaving in an effort to catch your breath as he took his pleasure and gave yours tenfold, three fingers deep and his tongue on your clit. 

“Look how pretty you are,” he whispered, his eyes fixated on the mesmerizing sight of his fingers gliding in and out of you, shiny with slick and making a sound that had his eyes rolling into his head and his hips pressing into the mattress for friction. “So fucking pretty, baby,” he praised, his thumb pressing against your pulsing clit, igniting another surge of pleasure that made your breath catch around a sharp whine in your throat. 

“Kento,” you moaned for him, your voice beckoning and desperate, eyes clenched tight and pleasure coiling into a ball in your belly. He answered your call like always, sliding back up your body, his lips hovering over yours and beautiful blond har falling to brush against your forehead. 

“She speaks,” he teased, arching his fingers inside of you for good measure and marveling at the way you twitched and whined in response. “You normally keep me on my toes. Yet you’re so quiet now. Choked up and whiny and moaning. That’s not like you.” It was exactly like you, especially when you’re chasing an orgasm. But at this point, you realized Kento would use anything to tease you, so blissfully happy and desperately thrumming with want. 

“You like the way I’m fingering you, baby?” 

You blinked up at him in disbelief, your ears not used to him teasing in moments like this. 

“Are you going to answer me?” voice darker now, still joyful but less patient.

You nodded profusely in response, panting up at him as the coil of an orgasm began to tighten at the small of your back. Your thighs quivered, your fingers tightening into the pillow aside your head. 

No other man could compare to Kento’s touch. The thought of anyone else’s fingers trailing over your skin, sliding inside you in a way that drove you to the brink, seemed unfathomable. He was the only one who could make you moan like you were being paid for it, like you were now. The only one who could hit every spot with just a simple graze until he could take you higher and higher, until your moans became tight and shaky, and your body clenched around his fingers, surrendering to a back-arching orgasm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through every inch of your being. 

You barely had a moment of reprieve before he kissed you again, stealing what little breath remained in your mouth as you tried to come down from that blissful high. His fingers slowly slid out of you, rubbed your clit gently while his lips trailed down your neck, licking the sweat from your skin. 

“May I have you?” he whispered against your skin, the deep timbre of his voice oozing with velvety wickedness that made you shudder against him.

“I…” you croaked, the words straining from your throat, your body aching and yearning for more of his touch even though you were sensitive all over. 

When thin rings of burnt-umber eyes came into view, the gaze was brimming with want, yet tender as he traced the contours of your face. Reaching for your left hand, he interlaced your fingers with his own, guiding your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, each gesture filled with love and affection, before brushing his lips against the precious stone adorning your ring finger. Your eyes locked onto the gleaming jewel, the dim light of your room reflecting off the carats and once again stirring a sharp breath in your chest and a hint of moisture behind your eyes. 

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked, his gentle smile masking the unfamiliar mirth in his tone. “Should I have waited longer?”

“No,” you whispered wetly, offering your smile in exchange. Blinking away tears, your vision cleared enough to gaze at him more intently. You tightened your grip against his hand, the cool metal pulling your finger to remind you of its presence. “I’m happy…so happy.” 

You brushed blonde locks from where they hung, admiring the way they pulled back and then flopped back into place. Every part of him that wasn’t poised and perfect in public was raw and unfiltered with you, its own treasure chest—its contents sacred and beautiful—that only you had the key to open.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him closer and gasping softly as you felt him press to your entrance, hot and leaking with precum. 

“I’ve just been at a loss of words,” you admitted.

“Am I that charming?” He raised a dark blonde brow, his slightly tense expression from being pressed against your heat giving him a sinfully enticing look that made your slick cunt throb. That oversensitivity was still there, but not as insistent, not as sharp and weak enough so pleasure could slink back in front. 

You used your heels against his lower back to push him inside of you, inhaling sharply from the sudden stretch as he intruded the warmth of your body. He waited for you to relax, whispering soft praises against the skin of your lips as he fought the impossible urge to snap his hips into you. 

“You just proposed,” you shook, moaning softly when he finally began to move steadily within you. Your cunt flexed around him, relaxed enough to welcome him further and then gripped with a pressure that made your stomach coil in heat. Your body was already loose and pliant from your first orgasm, so it was easy for him to brush against those spots inside of you that seemed to fan gentle flames back to life again. “O-of course I would be at a loss of words. You’re not that charming.”

It was a jest filled with delight that you were used to delivering to him, even in the blaze of heat.

But he hummed in reproach, sliding a hand into the hair at your nape, pulling back sharply to expose more of your skin to him. You signed up for that. Walked right into it. And then you paid for it when his other hand gripped your hips, tilted them upwards to sink further into you, the skin of his abs suddenly able to brush against your clit. 

You choked on a moan, biting your lip to stifle your voice, and dug your nails into his back. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, a sharp tsk before you felt him use the grip in your hair to angle your gaze to his. 

“Don’t lie to me when I’m fucking you, beautiful girl.” 

Oh god.

Your cunt fluttered in response, your body shaking from his words and thrusts, a whimper squeaking from your throat. 

He smiled softly in response, slanting his lips against yours and making a home in your mouth as you struggled to keep up with his rhythm. Between the fluid thrusts of his hips, the thick cock stretching your cunt, and your clit tingling with each smack of skin against it, you were lightheaded—mind swimming as he showered you again with that overwhelming intensity of his affection. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in awe as he looked down at you. His forehead already had a light sheen of sweat, and your eyes traced along the soft hairs that began to cling to his hairline. You trailed your hands from his back, sliding them down the muscular planes of his chest and in between the spaces of his abs before your eyes fell on the mesmerizing motion of his hips, his cock working you in and out—thick and glistening—accompanied by the sound of his ragged breath above you.

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice low and serious, pulling your gaze to him immediately to take in his wild expression. Thin rings of burnt-umber crazed, wet lips slightly parted, a ruddy color on his cheeks, and a subtle crease in his brow as he tried to focus. “Good girl. Perfect. Eyes on me. Never look away from me, do you understand?” You nodded sharply at his demand, electrifying pleasure zinging up and down your spine from his words. Your voice was stuck in your throat, too tight to speak but loose enough to let every wanton moan fall through as his pace began to pick up and his strokes began to deepen. He shook his head, more to himself and panting harshly as he opened his mouth to speak. “I want to be gentle and—”

“Give me everything,” you interrupted, scratching against the tightness of your throat and curling around a whine as the whispers of a second orgasm began to echo in your ears. “Give it all to me Kento, please.”

Suddenly, Kento was bending your knees towards your chest, pushing down hard with his lips against yours and pumping into you with an intensity that made your toes curl and you yelp into his mouth. His cock was making a home inside of you, brushing upwards into sensitive spots that made you keen, rubbing his pelvic bone hard against your clit so that you could do nothing but moan shamelessly into his mouth. 

Vaguely you were thankful that Ulani wasn’t older. That she wasn’t aware enough to wake up in curiosity in the middle of the night from sounds that sounded odd to her and to ask you the next morning why mommy was begging.

It wasn’t long until the heat in your stomach had become too much, a gentle warmth now a raging inferno, coiling and bubbling with pleasure that made your thighs tense against the pressure of his hands that pressed them down to your chest. Your pussy throbbed—pulsed and squeezed him in warning, your breath becoming a staccato of a melody that he had memorized so well as you dug crescent moons into his back.

“Am I going to make you cum?” he panted before the words could escape your lips.

“Yes!” you squeaked, tense like a rubber band, taut and gasping beneath him. He brushed wet lips against your own and trailed them down your neck before licking the salty skin in a way that had you stuttering against the punctuation of his thrusts.

“Who’s going to make you cum?” he hissed along the column of your neck.

“You—you Kento!” He groaned softly from your response, a moan carrying along the undercurrent of his panting as you squeezed tighter and tighter around him. You had no time to warm him because suddenly your body was pulling tight, your muscles twitching in response and your back arching as that coil unraveled quickly inside your stomach, exploding to shoot pleasure inside of you hot and overwhelming. You bit your lip as you moaned with your orgasm, your cunt thrumming with the hammering in your chest.

“That’s my good girl. Take everything you want,” he whispered into your neck, kissing the burning skin as you came down from your high.

His thrusts slowed to a stop, offering a short break in intensity as you took in the panting of both your bodies. He released his hold on your legs, leaning down to brush soft lips against your own, bleeding love and anticipation into your mouth before he pulled you up onto your hands and knees, the coolness of the sheets offering a refreshing cushion to your sweaty skin.

You bit past the overstimulation when you felt him slide inside you again; even though you were satisfied and lax from an orgasm, every nerve in your body felt as if it had been exposed to the open air. You trembled against him—shuddered from the feel of his large hands sliding from your shoulder blades and down your back before they dug into the flesh of your hip. He gave you no warning, thrusting once, twice, and then a third time before falling back into the same steady rhythm as before. 

Fighting against overstimulation was always a challenge at first, it was sharp and almost impossible to push through, but you always held onto that faint glimmer of pleasure each time. And slowly, with each brush of his cock against that spongy spot inside of you, that overstimulation got softer and softer, more malleable for you to push past to take root of pleasure as your breath quickened and your skin began to overheat.

The press of his lips between your shoulder blades felt like a cool balm to your hot skin that made you sigh, your back arching slightly, your head leaning back towards the ceiling as your cunt throbbed around his penetrating girth. 

“Stunning,” he whispered and then carded a hand your hair so you could finally open your eyes and take in the mirror of your vanity in front of you. 

He was behind you, with sweaty skin and a muscular torso undulating with every thrust, his hair disheveled, his eyes heavy with want and determination. And there you were on your hands and knees, sweaty creamy brown skin, full breasts swaying with each press of his hips, curls loose and frizzy and still adorned with cherry blossoms that had begun to fall onto the sheets where your fingers were bunched. 

“Look how beautiful you are, darling,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, his eyes locked with yours in the mirror. You both had done this so many times before. You had gotten used to looking at yourself in the mirror when he fucked you. The mortification of looking at yourself moaning and dazed wasn’t as prominent as it used to be. But the sight of his serious gaze always took a moment to adjust to. “So beautiful. The mother of my child. The only woman I will ever love. My fiancé.”

You moaned at his words and tightened around him, instantly lighting a fire in your veins that made your heart pump faster, made your skin tingle, and made the shreds of exploded pleasure in your belly from your last orgasm curl back into itself to form a ball again.

“My fiancé,” he whispered again, kissing along your shoulder, biting against the saltiness of your skin. He was losing himself, sinking further into delirium and salaciousness as his thrusts grew sharper, his grip on your waist tightened, and his teeth began to dig into every expanse of skin he could reach. You welcomed the pain, welcomed the sight of red blooming on your skin in the mirror that would darken over time.

“Kento—” you began to say, throat dry.

“Say it,” he demanded, leaving no room for argument as he emphasized his request with a powerful thrust. 

“Your fiancé,” you whispered back, shuddering from the words on your tongue, whimpering against the increased onslaught of his hips and yelping when you felt coarse fingertips reach down to rub your clit. You were going to cum, it was unavoidable with every stroke of his cock against that spongy wall inside of you. You just needed more. More of his thrusts. More of his fingers stroking your clit. More of his voice in your ear.

Pulling you out of your thoughts, he adjusted your position so that the mirror only showed the side profile of your bodies, giving you a better view of the rivulets of muscle on his side and his thick cock shiny from slick as he railed you into the mattress. He pressed against your shoulder blades, your body giving with his touch so you could relax your chest into the sheets and arch your back. The sight made his eyes roll into the back of his head before he turned your head so your gaze was forced to look at your reflection in the mirror.

“Say it again.”

“Your fiancé,” you moaned softly, your thighs beginning to tremble from the force of his thrusts and the circle of his fingers on your clit. You fluttered around him, gushing slick onto his cock as your walls tightened from the force of one final orgasm that was leeching from your skin. And soon it was right there, right there and hot and loud and—

“Oh Ken, I’m close. I’m gonna cum!”

He moaned, a sound so rare that it somehow made the orgasm grow stronger, his hips thrusting against that spot that was screaming for more. “I feel you baby. Let it out, take what you want. Cum on my cock for me, love.”

You moaned wantonly, arching your back more so that he could hit you deeper, sharper, fluid and firm against your g-spot over and over and over until it all happened at once. That one stroke against your walls, that final harsh roll of his fingers on your clit, that drip of sweat from his hair onto your back, the ethereal sight of crushed cherry blossoms in your hair, and the flicker of your ring in the mirror had you furrowing your brow—opening your mouth and hiccupping on a gasp as your orgasm washed over you. You were lightheaded with pleasure, delirious as you moaned through the electrifying buzz in your stomach.

Your body was taut like a wire, cunt like a vice and gushing around his cock even as he dug through your sudden grip to claim an orgasm of his own. 

Maybe it was the frequency of these encounters or simply your own uninhibited nature after you had been fucked to orgasm a few times in one sitting, but as you panted through gasping moans, watching your body slide back and forth on the sheets from his relentless thrusts, your throat took on a life of its own.

“Cum inside of me,” you whimpered, tightening your fingers in the sheets as you watched him loll his head back in satisfaction from your words. “Please, please, please Kento. Give me your cum…fill me up!”

Kento cursed harshly from behind you, leaning down to bite at the skin between your shoulder blades, and in the mirror you watched him give you three more strokes before his eyes rolled back, his jaw went slack, and his fingers dug into your hips as he groaned deep and shook as he spilled inside of you.

He collapsed against you, his breath warm and inviting as he whispered a soft ‘I love you’ against the back of your neck before apologizing from his weight. From the way his body shook, he probably wouldn’t be able to move anytime soon. But you didn’t mind; it grounded you into the present—brought your soul slowly back into your body.

The puffs of his breath against your skin was comforting, and the feeling of him softening inside you was an odd sensation that you welcomed. As you glanced at the mirror, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his form against yours. 

You were flushed and sweaty. Your cheek was pressed and pillowed against the sheets. Your hair frizzy and tangled with white petals. He turned his head, pressing his ear to your shoulder blade, his face away from you in the mirror. Yet, you could still take in the beautiful messiness of his hair, the sharp perfection of his undercut, and the quick rise and fall of his muscular torso. That satisfying ache began to bloom deep within your bones, a delicious aftermath of being thoroughly and expertly fucked that only Kento knew how to deliver. 

Your eyes followed the movement of his hand on your hips, watched as it slid up the sheets before settling on top of your left hand. His fingers intertwined with yours, curling both your hands into a tight fist. In the mirror, the flicker of your ring stood out brightly, and as your vision began to blur again with tears, your mouth curled into a gentle smile. 

“Love, you have to take it off before bed.”

“No,” you responded firmly, your eyes fixated on the ring on your finger. You were too tired for a shower, and Kento just as exhausted, skipped his usual aftercare routine with you this time, opting instead to clean you up, put a shirt on you, and throw your bonnet on your head.  “What’s the harm in wearing it to bed?”

“There are risks,” he began, voice leaking indifference as he lay next to you, his cheek pressed into his pillow as he shot a naturally narrow gaze at you. “Injury and—”

“Compile a PowerPoint presentation and submit it to me. I’m too tired to hear excuses.”

He chuckled harshly, gravely with the beginnings of sleep. He pulled you close, breathing in your scent as you rested your cheek against the warmth of his naked chest. The room fell into silence, minutes stretching out as Kento’s eyes grew heavy under the thick curtain of his hair.

“Ken?” you called out softly. He hummed, stroking a thumb down your back to let you know he was listening. “Can we have a small wedding?”

“We can have whatever you wish.” 

His response made warmth blossom in your chest, your heart thrumming sharply as you traced your finger along the stone on your finger. “I don’t talk to my mother’s side of the family. And after my father died before my birth, my mother cut off his entire side. I don’t really have anyone besides Ome and Rory. But I know you have lots of family and I want them to be there. But it doesn’t have to be too big. I have modest savings but I don’t want to overdo it—”

“My love,” he interrupted, his eyes closed but thumb still stroking your back. “Our families will be there. Our friends will be there. We can have the wedding wherever you want, whenever you want. I have more than enough money for you, me, Ulani, and her grandchildren. As long as I get to officially make you mine, you will want for nothing.”

You swallowed hard, unable to hold back the small smile that formed on your lips as his words echoed in your mind.

“Are you trying to flex your bank account, Kento? I know you have a couple mil stored away, but try not to brag.”

His laughter filled the room, loud and sharp, his pearly white smile shining down at you as he opened the eye not pushed into his pillow to gaze at you. His chest shook from his laughter, hands pulling you impossibly closer to his warmth.

“Stop teasing and let me love you.”

You didn’t bother to fight the blush that had erupted on your cheeks from his effortless words. It was like a second skin to him, to love you so thoroughly. 

“There has to be something you want,” you tried to pry from him, eyes widening in delight when he let out a dramatic sigh against you.

He was silent for a minute, then another, and yet another to the point where you were convinced he had fallen asleep when— 

“I will pay the most for the food. It better be good enough to lick the plate when I’m finished.” You rolled your eyes but giggled as you draped your arm around his waist. “I won’t dance. I’ll have a first dance with you and my mother but nothing more.”

“Not if I get you drunk enough,” you teased.

“No.”

You grunted in playful frustration against him before falling silent again, the gentle static of Ulani’s baby monitor filling the room. Your eyes drifted back to your ring, unable to tear your gaze away.

“Ken?” you called out softly, voice weak and reluctant.

He chortled into the silk of your bonnet, clearly tired but too content to reject you. “Yes, my love.”

“Who helped you pick it out?”

“Are you suggesting that I couldn’t have chosen it without any help?” he asked, slightly affronted and delivering a pinch to your side even though he was chuckling again for what felt like the nth time that night.

“Did your father help?” you asked, not bothering to dignify his last question with a response. “What about Yuji?”

“Yuji means well, but he doesn’t know what a carat is, love. I picked it out. Go to sleep.”

You pursed your lips, considering your next option. “Geto?”

“He doesn’t know you that well. Love, enough with the questions,” he pleaded.

“Gojo then?”

The mere mention of his name made him smack the skin of your ass, a lively shriek shaking around a laugh that escaped from your lips. He grabbed onto the stinging flesh, yanking you closer before leaning down to swallow your giggles. It stole your breath and you curled your fingers against the skin of his chest to anchor yourself. His lips were firm, insistent, and final before he pulled away, giving you a lighthearted glare.

“I picked out the ring. No one else. If you ever breathe Gojo’s name after I’ve had an orgasm, I might just leave you. Now go to bed.” 

You rolled your eyes up at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before relaxing back into your pillow. He settled back into his own and you traced over the handsome features of his bedhead, closed eyes, and puckered lips before they were opening to call out your name.

“Yes?” you responded, fingers tracing idly around a pink nipple. He shuddered from your touch.

He opened his eye, deep irises taking you in; the softness of your skin, the old t-shirt on your body, the black silk of your bonnet, and the sliver of a curl that poked from the side, a white petal tangled in the strand.

“I love you.”

And you whispered it back to him free of mirth this time and filled with an affection that only he would ever have.

***

Luck was on his side. It wasn’t as crowded as he walked with you and Ulani the next day. The air was still warm even for late April. His courage seemed to have multiplied overnight, probably from your acceptance of his proposal or maybe just because you made him feel stronger with your presence alone.

When he settled on the grass, folded his legs, and sunk his fingers into the freshly cut blades, his throat was tight, but loose enough to let him breathe. The grass slid against the sides of his knuckles as he took a deep breath.

“You can tell him about your day.”

“I went for a run this morning,” Kento spoke, immediately annoyed with himself but using your words in his head to press on. “Broke my four-mile record. Then I had breakfast with my family. And I came here, and I…” his voice wavered, a sting in his eyes catching him off guard. “Kaya is doing well. She’s smiling more. Geto is taking care of her, and Aiko is a fierce whirlwind just like you. She’s thriving. We’re making sure of it.”

“Tell him that Ulani is starting to eat more solid foods and how she loves yogurt but isn’t a fan of peas.”

“Ulani came on July 15th. She has my eyes and y/n’s hair and gets into everything she can grab. She’ll be speaking actual words soon, and I…I wish you could have met her. She’s beautiful, and laughs as loud as her mother and takes in the world just like me. She loves yogurt and she hates peas. She’s growing up so fast. And you should have been here. You should have—” Kento’s voice trailed off as he tightly shut his eyes, so tight that the sting of tears he had forced away collected at the edge of his lashes.

“I should be angry with you,” Kento started again, a trace of frustration seeping into his tone before he pushed it aside and took a deep breath. “I was angry with you. But as usual, I can never stay mad at you. I hate it. I hate how you make me see and then die so I can’t throttle you…But if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have done a thing. If it weren’t for her, I would have burned the deed and never looked back. But she redid the floors, painted the walls, and put your plants back. That stupid plant in your office is still alive and that stupid Fiddle Leaf is larger than ever. It will be a pain to maintain.” 

He drew in a shallow breath, exhaling the bitterness from the pit of his belly into the warm air as his heart settled into a normal rhythm from beating too fast in anger.

“But she made your sweet bread. Batch after batch, until she got it right, and it tasted just like yours. She made a personalized menu and created an ad and it’s not fair that you won’t be here to witness the reopening in a few months. It’s not fair…” he trailed off again, emotions flaring inside of him, choking him and making him stop short to take a deep breath and then another as he blinked away the faint tears in his eyes. “But I hope you can see Ulani while she grows. I hope you can see how happy I am…how happy y/n makes me. How much I love her.” 

Jagged shards of his grief cut the inside of his chest with each breath he took, just as raw as that first day, just as painful. But they were closing up at a faster pace, healing quickly enough to make the pouring sadness from the open wounds feel less overwhelming.

I miss you. I’m sorry we fought that day. Forgive me.

He wanted to say it, he did. But his throat was too tight—he wasn’t ready. And that’s okay. You had shown him, with patience and a forgiving air, that it was okay not to be ready. But one day he would be. And until then, he could say what came to mind, or simply sit in silence and just…be.

A few moments passed, the breeze swirling around him, picking up in intensity before he spoke up again. 

“I also came to say…that I’m engaged. It took me months to gather the courage to propose, and she broke the rules of every manual on how to do things properly. But it finally happened during Sakura season…and she had cherry blossoms in her hair…and was trying to tell a joke as usual.” He smiled softly to himself, relaxing the tension of his grip on the grass, faint memories echoing in his mind.

“If you don’t change your hairstyle, all the girls will think you’re an emo boy. And you’ll grow to be an emo man with an emo life and—”

“Enough. My hair is fine and it takes more than hair to build a relationship.”

“You’ll be fifty before you even get engaged.”

“Who do you take me for?”

“An old man.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Fine! If you wind up engaged before thirty-five, I’ll give you twenty bucks.”

“Fifty.”

“Deal!”

Kento rolled his eyes. “I didn’t forget about our bet in high school. You owe me fifty dollars. I’ll be sure to collect my winnings from Kaya when I see her.” The corners of his lips twitched, the smile threatening to grow wider as he listened to himself.

There was nothing more he could say. While his throat was no longer tight, more words eluded him, and he wouldn’t force them. He had a lifetime to share more. 

“All done?” your voice called from next to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. He looked up at you, your unwavering gaze a source of strength and resilience. Ulani was strapped to your chest, her legs kicking freely, a teething toy in her mouth and a beanie on her head to protect her from the wind. Her curious eyes took in the towering trees around her before settling on her father, a wide smile spreading across her face. 

In that moment, the weight of grief washed away, those jagged shards of pain slowly mending to the point that he could breathe again. He stood up, ready to join you and you watched him look down at the small nameplate in front of Yu’s tree. The air was still, an eerie calmness that made Kento feel as if the shift in the breeze was Yu throwing that stupid mischievous smirk in his direction from the sight of his best friend and his new family.

Kento wasn’t a spiritual man, but some part of him believed that Yu could see him and his family, that he could see Kaya and his daughter, and that he would be happy with the way you turned the bakery around. 

Part of Kento believed it. He had to believe it. Yu was too powerful of a person to fade away with his ashes that rested in the soil beneath his tree.

So, he took that belief with him, tucked it deep down within his chest as he interlaced his fingers with yours and felt the cool metal of your ring against his skin.

“Did he respond?” you asked him, nudging his arm softly with your elbow. He looked down at you before pressing a fond kiss to your lips, smiling against you when he felt his daughter pull at his coat. He pulled away and then leaned down to press a series of kisses to Ulani’s cheek, her curls brushing against his nose as she squealed in her own laughter, satisfied with the attention and babbling for more.

Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, he offered his silent answer to your question, one you had asked a few times before. And he smiled, that special smile reserved only for you, before leading you away from Yu’s tree and back along the streets of Nakameguro. 

#Nanami kento #Kento nanami #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami Kento x black reader #Nanami Kento x black fem reader #nanami x you #Nanami Kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #It Had To Be You #mysteria157 #anime x black reader #Nanami Kento fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk x black reader #Nanami Kento smut #jjk au #masterlist #It Had To Be You masterlist #nanami kento fluff #jjk fluff #jjk smut #Kento Nanami x reader #Kento Nanami x black reader #Kento Nanami x y/n #Kento Nanami fanfic #Kento Nanami smut #Kento Nanami fluff #black fem reader

[mysteria157]

Chapter Two

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

**While I personally do not think this chapter is too dark and angsty, I AM NOT YOU, so please be sure to read the CWs before proceeding.**

CW: Profanity, Physical Abuse, ANGST, Emotional Manipulation, Naobito being a piece of shit, Hitman duties (idk what to call it), Blood and Violence, Depressive Thoughts, Obsessive Coping Mechanisms, Comfort, Toji being down bad.

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

Toji hasn't always been cold and calculated. Beneath that harsh exterior is a boy who was made to feel like he never belonged in this world.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting!

This fic is going to have dark elements as I've stated before. We all know that Toji suffered abuse from his family growing up and that's largely a reason why he acts the way he does. So I really wanted to explore that in my fic and specifically in this chapter.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

| Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Chapter Three: Coming Soon...

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

look at you.

still standing

after being

knocked down

and thrown out

-Alex Elle

*** Toji ***

The first time Toji tastes freedom, it’s a decade into his bleak existence, amidst the sweltering summer heat. The thick, humid air clings to his grimy skin and makes him feel more uncomfortable than usual. His room—or he supposes it’s a small house—is nestled among overgrown trees and an unkempt lawn. 

To an outsider, his ‘home’ looks to be a greenhouse shed but with poorly painted walls and small windows. However, within the compound, it represents the dwelling of the man who tainted the revered Zenin bloodline. While they cannot exterminate the one who is responsible for polluting their family, they can make it seem like he never existed, to themselves and the outside world. 

He’s far from the main house, but it’s quiet, and even though the breeze always feels nice between his matted hair, it always carries the undercurrent of trash from the large garbage can that rests against the compound walls next to his abode. It’s all he smells no matter the season. The garbage can is one you would find outside restaurants or large establishments, and when it’s trash day, a large truck parks on the other side of the compound, reaches long metal prongs over the white brick walls, and pulls the can over to dump it. 

On trash day, it would be so easy for Toji to jump those walls, to hop on top of the plastic lid of the garbage can and let it carry him over. But like many things, fear and hopelessness hold him back. His entire family has never offered him a kind word or a smile, but they are nothing compared to his uncle. Naobito is the head of their family, feared by many within and outside of the compound. His position requires him to be good at many things, and if there is one thing Naobito is especially good at, it’s making Toji realize his insignificance. 

“You think you can just leave? Where would you go, boy? No one in this city wants to take in another child. Especially one of low birth.”

“Insignificant.”

“Useless.”

“A stain on something we have worked hard to uphold.”

These words echo in his ears day after day, month after month, year after year, ever since he could comprehend words enough to know their sting. He’s always felt small, always believed the only purpose he has is to breathe and do nothing else.

But today is trash day…

Maybe it’s the hunger that has been gnawing at his stomach for the past two days or the discomfort of dirt clinging to his skin beneath his sweaty yukata. Maybe it’s the sting on his cheek from his uncle’s morning slap, the mocking reminder for the millionth time not to dare do anything besides what he is told. Maybe staring too long at the garbage can and feeling his heart jump when the truck parks on the other side of the walls is a sign; a fleeting feeling within him, his own body telling him to do something before he withers away. 

It all sparks a sudden surge of strength, propelling him to climb on top of the plastic garbage lid as the metal prongs dig into each side of the can and lift him and the trash. Adrenaline helps him dig his fingers into the plastic of the lid as gravity pulls him over the walls of the Zenin compound.

He’s prepared to be tackled and dragged by his hair back inside before anyone can see him. He’s ready to fight back with the remains of his strength if he needs to. But as he slides off the garbage lid and his feet touch the cobblestone ground, only silence greets him. The trash collectors don’t see him and they drive away without turning back and he’s grateful. He’s so grateful, he can hardly breathe.

The compound isn’t in the middle of the city center like he once thought. From the many festivals and jovial sounds he would hear on the other side of the walls, he expected bustling laughter and sounds of merchants advertising their goods. But it turns out, the compound is perched on a hillside. He guesses it makes sense for one of Japan’s wealthiest families to be tucked away for safety and overlooking the world to feel more powerful. 

Even though he can see what looks to be a village a walking distance away, the compound also overlooks the city and a large river that Toji doesn’t know the name of. He’s never been taught anything, never learned how to read, never learned basic arithmetic or history. He knows nothing other than the fact that he lives in Tokyo, to eat the rancid food he is given and not talk back when his uncle visits him to teach him a lesson about whatever is bothering him that day.

Laughter echoes in the distance, the unmistakable laughter of children—maybe some his own age. Some who won’t sneer at him as if he’s a piece of shit stuck to their shoe. 

His legs carry him towards the village, the sounds of the breeze dying down to be replaced with yelling and laughter and normalcy he’s never heard before. Vaguely, his mind screams at him to go back home so he doesn’t suffer later, but he squashes it down. He will do anything to see faces besides the angry ones of his family, to breathe in scents beyond garbage and contempt, and to taste flavors other than the remnants of meals prepared by the Zenin’s esteemed live-in chef.

Ignoring the persistent growl of hunger in his stomach, his mind focuses on absorbing the sounds of the bustling marketplace that he finds himself in. Vendors haggle with customers, offering a variety of goods—fresh produce, meat, and fish—all waiting to be transformed into dishes that Toji wishes he could eat. The uneven cobblestones are ragged beneath his feet, not smooth and pressed down like in front of the compound. These stones protrude from the soil they are rooted into and catch on the thin shoes that barely protect Toji’s feet. But he navigates the crowds seamlessly, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sights around him even though the brush of people against his body makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

An elderly man dozes off beside a vendor stand empty of customers. A woman, younger but with a haggard face, stands guard at the makeshift register, casting a cautious glance in Toji’s direction. He can feel her disapproval and with her gaze, the weight of his disobedience settles upon him—he should be at the compound, under his uncle’s hateful eyes. Hastily, he averts his gaze and quickens his pace, disappearing into the crowd with newfound urgency.

His ears pick it up before his nose smells it—the sound of sizzling and the smell of dough. Toji can’t help but gawk at the long rows of metal scoops, each containing batter with octopus, pickled ginger, and tempura. The sides bubble and cook, frying from the yellow of fresh yolk before the vendor’s deft utensils turn over each ball of dough, revealing perfectly cooked Takoyaki. He’s tasted it before, albeit soggy and half-eaten, but the memory now stirs a desperate craving within him. He could have it now; fresh and untainted by someone else’s bite. But the lining of his pockets holds nothing but lint; he’s poor with not a penny to his name. 

The vendor sets her utensils to the side, pausing in her efforts to catch Toji’s wary attention. When his gaze meets hers, he’s stiff and ready to flee. He’s sure the Zenin family’s influence looms large over the city; she could easily summon someone and report his escape. He’s not ready to go—he won’t. As he edges backward, his thin shoes slip on the uneven cobblestones, nearly causing him to stumble. 

But whatever look is in her eyes softens, replaced by something unfamiliar—a warmth that unsettles him, makes him almost nauseous, quelling his hunger while stoking the flames of fear in his belly. Her gaze sweeps over him—his disheveled hair, grimy yukata, the smear of dirt on his cheek. Instead of scowling or sneering and spitting at his feet, she smiles. Soft and warm without any pretense behind it, a genuine smile that makes Toji relax and the fear dissipate. She plates a dozen takoyaki into a long paper bowl, tops them with Kewpie mayonnaise, bonito flakes, and powdered seaweed, and shoves a pair of chopsticks into one perfectly rolled fried dough ball before she slides the bowl over to him.

“Eat up before it gets cold, honey,” she says kindly and the tone almost makes the breath in his throat catch.

Snatching the bowl, Toji’s actions mirror the desperate way he consumes the food that Naobito tosses at his feet after withholding a meal for days. Along with an education, he was never taught manners. His cousins know which forks to use for every dish, he knows to use his hands and savor anything he can get before it’s taken away. He offers the vendor a brief nod, eyes shy and looking away from her for as long as he can muster before he ducks away from the stall.

The takoyaki melts on his tongue and he can taste every speck of seasoning that she added. Ignoring the wary glances directed his way, he licks Kewpie off his fingers, uncaring of the bonito flakes that cling to his chapped lips. It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten—delicious, warm, fills his belly, and when he finally wipes the bonito flakes from his lips some tears collect with it. He doesn’t acknowledge the sadness that climbs up his stomach and nestles in the back of his throat. He can’t—what use would it be to cry over a life that will never change? Over a meal for once prepared for him and not someone else?

He stuffs the remaining takoyaki down his throat to push down the urge to sob, savors the taste for as long as he can, and sucks the seasoning from under his fingernails just as he feels something bump into his feet. When he looks down, he can at least recognize that it’s a soccer ball. The dirt turns the white patterns on it almost black, and it looks well-used.

“You gonna give that back, or just stare at it?” a voice demands.

Toji collects the dirty soccer ball and looks up to find a boy who might—hopefully—be his age. His black hair is short and his eyes hold an expression of boredom and grit that reminds Toji a little of himself. He holds out his hand and gestures for Toji to hand over the ball with so much impatience that Toji glares, tossing the ball back without a word. In truth, he’s struck silent because this is the first time in his life that he’s seen another kid his age who doesn’t look down on him from the encouragement of family.

The kid purses his lips, a bushy eyebrow lifting as he thinks something over in his head before he meets Toji’s gaze. He tosses the ball from one hand to the other, back and forth with a practiced air that Toji wishes he had. He’s skinny but his cheeks are full and his arms aren’t bony which shows he’s well-fed. He doesn’t wear a yukata but his shorts and shirt are freshly washed and free of stains from constant use—just dirt off the ground from playing. 

Envy, it’s the only thing that Toji can feel in this moment. Because this kid gets to eat food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He gets to wear nice clothes, play with friends, and breathe air that’s fresh and smells of takoyaki. It’s not fair. It’s not—

“You wanna play?”

Toji’s eyes widen at the unexpected invitation. Play? With another kid? He’s seen his cousins play with each other in the large expansive fields of the compound but he was never allowed to join. He’s familiar with games he’s made up on his own—counting how many times a bird chirps before noon or how many different animals he can imagine in the clouds—but playing with someone else?

“It’s nothing crazy, you don’t gotta think so hard about it. You comin’ or not?”

Toji hesitates, his fingers bending the sides of the now-empty plastic bowl in his hands. He really should head back to the compound because it’s been over an hour. Someone has to have tried to come to his shed and bully him by now. He has to go back. He has to.

But—

“Okay,” Toji replies instead and follows the kid down the cobblestone street.

***

It’s dusk when he finally reaches the white brick of the compound walls again. The evening breeze is thankfully not as sticky as earlier in the day and glides through his hair to cool the sweat on the back of his neck. His skin is dirty from the people he brushed against in the alleyway, from running in fields with a speed he never knew he had, from kicking a soccer ball and falling into the grass to play with a friend he can now call, Shiu. His fingers are tacky from the Kewpie that he licked off hours ago as well as seasoning from the Yakitori chicken skewers that Shiu conned off a vendor.

He never knew he could have so much fun. He’s never been able to experience it once in his life and having to say goodbye to Shiu, to lie and say he would be back in a few days, makes his stomach curdle with sadness and his eyes sting with tears that he’s too elated right now to let fall.

The compound walls, once towering and frightening, now seem conquerable. With a full belly and a newfound sense of strength, Toji takes a running start, vaulting over the barrier and landing with a thud in the neglected grass. He falls to his knees and plops into the cushion of the ground, rolling onto his back with a huff. 

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he giggles, it’s light and unexpected, mingling with the night air, and helps his lips curl into a rare smile. He gazes up at the starry sky, stars that he wishes he had names for but still uses their presence to create warriors and animals to tell himself stories on nights when he can’t sleep.

“No matter what I tell you, you still never listen.”

The sound of his uncle’s voice shoots an electric jolt of fear down Toji’s spine, propelling him to his knees before he can draw another breath. He can’t have his back on Naobito, he needs to have his eyes on every movement even though it won’t make a difference.

His breath is lodged in his lungs, forming a tight knot that constricts his chest and parches his throat. The sight of his uncle, the sound of his voice, and the scent of his overpowering cologne, make him break into a sweat immediately. It’s a Pavlovian response and his body yearns for some sort of survival instinct that has long since been beaten out of him. But he tries, god does he try to defend himself every time.

Toji sits back on his haunches, shooting an ineffective glare up at his uncle that does little to penetrate the unnaturally smooth texture of Naobito’s skin. Toji can’t run, where would he go? To the other side of the compound where another member of his family can grab him by the hair and drag him back to the underbrush? To the front gates that are always locked and manned by security guards who control who can enter and exit?

“I’m guessing you ran your mouth to everyone you saw. Told those commoners that you’re a poor, neglected boy trapped in the clutches of the Zenin family.” Toji should have done that, but he was too caught up in good food and having friends like a kid should. He shakes his head at his uncle, unwilling to form words that bubble with the now overwhelming queasiness within him. “Oh I’m sure you did, didn’t you?” 

Toji shakes his head again, more eager, more insistent even though his heart begins to race in his chest. What’s the point in trying to prove himself to someone who’s already made up their mind? It’s useless, Toji knows that, but he continues to be honest, shaking his head over and over, hoping that maybe just this once, his uncle will believe him.

Naobito scoffs, his peppered mustache twitching with the movement of his mouth. The raven hair on his scalp is always gelled and brushed back no matter the time of day. He exudes wealth in tailored suits and eloquence with a nasty edge that cements his authority within the family. He’s a mean man, a rotten man. A man who subjects Toji to torment no matter the time of day. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the authorities are on their way here right now. Ready to arrest your family, to haul away your catatonic mother so she can’t defend you.”

Naobito’s words are a sharpened tool of manipulation, Toji knows the pierce of it against his skin. But the thought that his own actions would endanger someone else, makes him start, to open his mouth in a plea.

“I didn’t—”

But before he can say another word, a searing pain grips his scalp, forcing a hiss of agony from his lips as Naobito yanks him by the hair through the thick grass and drags him away. Knotweed scratches his face and scrapes against his ankles as he kicks desperately, trying to find purchase on the ground before his uncle can do anything else. 

His heart pounds in a recognizable rhythm, adrenaline coursing weakly through his veins, its effects dulled by the overwhelming fear. His fighting doesn’t matter. Toji knows the routine all too well—the sensation of the wooden floor beneath his back when he falls onto it, the sting of a slap across his face, the ache of a knee to his gut. 

Toji hasn’t sobbed in front of his uncle in a long time, but he can’t suppress the wretched sound that escapes him as the yakitori and takoyaki resurface and leave his mouth bitter. It feels like the worst punishment he’s ever received, the consequence of eating wonderful food that was never meant for a peasant like him. He took it in, and now it’s on the ground. 

He shouldn’t have jumped the walls. He shouldn’t have even thought about it.

Stupid.

Worthless.

Insignificant.

“Now what did we learn?” his uncle’s bored drawl cuts through the air, indifferent as his own flesh and blood cries in front of him. It’s just another day for him and he enacts punishment based on ideals that have been hammered into him by his own father and the father before him.

Naobito pulls a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away specks of blood from his knuckles. His perfectly groomed hair is now disheveled, falling over his eyes, glowering with disdain down at his nephew. Towering over him, Naobito radiates dominance, his imposing stature a constant reminder of Toji’s weakness. Toji hates it. He hates Naobito. He hates his entire family. He hates that his very existence brings so much distaste to those who should be protecting him. 

His ears are ringing and his face hurts, and large, calloused hands grip Toji’s cheeks, squeezing them painfully and forcing his gaze upward to lock with evil eyes. His charcoal irises hold no depth or uniqueness and they’re devoid of warmth. Pure hatred, it’s all that oozes from his uncle’s gaze. He’s endured that hateful look every day for the past decade, yet it feels just as fresh as the day before, just as painful to the inside of him. 

Toji chokes on a tight breath, groaning against the pressure of nails digging into his skin. He’s devastated by the stench of sweat, dirt, and vomit, and he’s so tired. All sense of strength that filled his hollow bones on the other side of the walls evaporated as soon as the sound of his uncle’s voice shot into his ears like a rifle.

“I said,” Naobito begins, voice low and filled with venom. His breath smells faintly of whiskey, but Toji knows he would inflict this pain upon his nephew completely sober. “What did we learn?”

Through the delirium of it all, beneath the horrible smells around him and the pain that radiates from his stomach up to his hairline, he registers the tremble in his body. He’s shaking, quaking in the grip of a family member who has done nothing but terrorize him as early as he can remember. Toji wants to spit in his face, wrap his hands around his pale neck, and squeeze until the life leaves his body.

But he’s not strong enough. He will never be strong enough.

So he does what he’s been conditioned to do, what he knows will appease his tormentor.

“I’m useless,” Toji whispers, tears finally welling in his eyes, shame gnawing at his gut. No child should ever have to utter those words, yet Toji speaks them daily.

Naobito hums in satisfaction, sickly sweet, eliciting a sharp twist in Toji’s stomach. If he throws up, he hopes it gets on his uncle’s finely pressed suit. He hopes the stains never come out, hopes he has to throw it away and spend more money for a new one. 

“And what else? You are…?”

The pucker of Toji’s lips quivers as they curl to form the words and his vision swims. The sight of his uncle becomes hazy, and Toji is thankful that he can’t see his face if only for a moment. 

“I’m…insignificant.”

Even though his uncle’s features are a blur, Toji can still see the whites of his teeth as he smiles. It only makes the tears fall quicker and scalding, dripping down dirty cheeks and onto his uncle’s fingers that still dig into his cheeks. He recoils in disgust, shoving Toji away as if he’s been burned. The fingers are gone, free from their biting grip, but Toji can still feel the indentation of them on his cheeks, branded and there to stay for as long as he lives.

Clutching the wooden floor beneath him, Toji’s nails try to burrow into the hard surface and he desperately wishes the floorboards could open up and swallow him whole. Tears stream down without reservation, smacking onto the dark wood next to his dirty fingers. Since his birth, he’s known not an ounce of happiness, not an ounce of peace or love, and is always the subject of his family’s wrath. He’s just come to accept what he’s forced to repeat day after day. Of what he is.

Insignificant.

Useless.

And that thought, the terrible and ever-present thought that his life has no meaning, only makes him cry harder. They’re harsh sobs that rattle in his chest and make him hiccup with every inhale, and he can’t stop them. Finally, his uncle has taught him a valuable lesson.

Somewhere in the distance, he hears Naobito scoff as he stands on his feet and readies to retreat and leave Toji in his misery. The routine will continue in the morning—cold water through a garden hose to shower him down, leftover breakfast from the main house, and another dusty yukata to wear.

Toji knows it like the back of his hand. And like so many times before, Naobito rolls his eyes, stuffs his dirty handkerchief into his pocket, and utters the same words.

“Stop—

***

“—fucking sniveling.”

It’s the third time Toji has to say it in so few minutes and his patience is wearing thin. They always get like this, it shouldn’t surprise him, yet his annoyance refuses to morph into practiced indifference, despite his years on the job. A part of him recognizes the fear in the man’s voice and the tears that run down his cheeks. He held that same emotion and cried many times through years of beatings.

But that was a long time ago, and this is different. This isn’t a man who has spent years under the abuse of his family, this is a target, successfully hunted down by Toji. Right now, it’s just another Tuesday. Another contract. Another paycheck. 

Toji doesn’t give them names; attaching emotion is pointless in a job he is always eager to finish so he can get paid. But he needs something to keep his mind focused; so he uses adjectives or random words to effectively detach himself. His current target’s name? Greasy.

The moniker suits him, evident from the persistent shine on his bald head, the stain of sweat that builds at his collar, and a dingy button-up that hugs his beer belly. His beady eyes are filled with tears, his lower lids red and swollen and a thin chapped lip split down the middle. He squirms and wiggles in his chair and every part of him seems slimy, reminiscent of a snake fresh from its egg. And Toji hates snakes. 

What the hell is he again? A stock broker? Hedge fund manager? Toji doesn’t really remember nor does he really care, it’s not relevant anyway. His career is but a small stepping stone for figuring out the best approach for reconnaissance.

It takes Toji a week to track Greasy’s movements in the vastness of the city that is part of America. Despite Toji’s skills in navigation, everything is unfamiliar. But he adapts quickly—he has to.

Greasy works a typical nine-to-five and has a corner office in a nice skyrise downtown that he spends most of his time taking personal phone calls inside of instead of working. Toji knows because the building across the street is empty and just as tall with large glass windows that are blacked out to those on the outside. On the 42nd floor, Toji has a perfect view of the back of his target and watches every day to note every detail of his routine.

For lunch, Toji stealthily follows Greasy to the same 7-Eleven at 12:35 PM, watches him purchase the same cherry slushie and tuna melt for ten dollars, and grimaces beneath the cloth mask that covers his mouth as he watches Greasy scarf down the food like the pig he is on the journey back to the office. At 5 PM, Greasy walks from the office to the train station, takes the Red Line to another city, and arrives home thirty minutes later.

The routine is as mundane and uninspired as the man himself. Yet, it’s the days marked by suspicious behavior from his client that pique Toji’s interest. Those are the days Greasy indulges, presenting the perfect opportunity for Toji to strike.

On Monday and Wednesday, Greasy tells his wife he has to work late and clocks out at 4:45 PM, riding the same Red Line but exiting the train at a stop before his usual. He climbs into a shiny Mercedes, kisses a much younger blonde woman, and disappears until 11 PM when his client reports that he’s arrived home. Like many others of his kind—seedy and grimy and consumed with themselves—Greasy remains oblivious to Toji’s presence. The last thing on his mind is his wife and children as he indulges in infidelity.

He’s climbed the ranks of his job but failed to realize the ease of it is from his wife’s influence. He’s too selfish to recognize that cheating on a governor with a dark side would not only incur her wrath but also put her in the spotlight due to his carelessness. He’s too conceited to realize his mistress only fucks him because her house and car are being paid as long as she continues to entertain him. He’s stupid in the best way for a mission like this, and ignorant of the world around him. 

It turns out, Greasy has been fucking on the side for half of his marriage. And he’s been taking a little bit of his wife’s money that she earns as a politician to fuel his alternative lifestyle. His wife is easy on the eyes, gave the loser two kids, and remained faithful even though her husband slept with anything that had a pulse. The only things Greasy gives his wife in return are two children and an STD. She’s angry, distraught, and filled with rage. Rightfully so.

Thanks to the help of the department in his organization that handles all things technological, Toji is able to SIM swap the mistress’s phone and send Greasy a message to meet her in a different location. Specifically, one of the many random establishments throughout the city that have been bought by his organization under the guise of something else. 

Greasy walks into Toji’s trap, ignorant and vulnerable, and now here he sits—tied up and squealing. This contract is so easy that it’s almost upsetting. He doesn’t usually like to get his hands dirty, but mental stimulation would have been a nice distraction.

Toji doesn’t get it—cheating. He’s always been one to stick with a woman and take what he can before he moves on to the next. While his intentions are never worth a gold star, he does things one woman at a time. Cheating seems…exhausting. And he’s been exhausted for most of his life to stay away from it if he can.

He’s not one to be tied down anyway.

At least he thought so.

“Earn me.”

Your words echo in his mind, a precursor to what might become a throbbing migraine because he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. You shouldn’t be in the dark, bloody recesses of his thoughts focused on killing. The room will only stain your smooth brown skin and ruin you, consume you, and corrupt you in ways beyond repair. He can’t afford your gaze to turn into anything other than teasing or annoyed when you look at him.

“I s-swear. I’ll do-do wh-whate-ever you say just—“ 

Whiny. Sobbing. Annoying.

“Shut up,” Toji grumbles, using the muzzle of his Glock 43 to massage his temple.

He’s tired, his brain now pulsating and being fueled by the stench of Greasy’s body. Despite the amount of money that he can get from revenge contracts, they are typically handled by those ranked lower than him. Revenge contracts deal with anything personal: infidelity, a family member that is despised just enough to warrant making them disappear, two legal companies doing whatever they can to take the other down. Anything with a vendetta.

They are driven by anger, hatred, and bitterness. Heavy and unnecessary emotions that Toji has to deal with before he can complete the job. Clients often demand specific proofs of guilt, from signed confessions in blood to videos of their target with tearful apologies to a picture of a severed finger if they are demented enough. To the client, it’s freeing. To the world, it’s insanity. But to Toji, it’s tedious and he has no choice but to get it done.

He pulls out his phone, ignoring the absence of notifications from you, and dials the burner number provided to all clients.

“Is it done?”

Most wives would be a sniveling mess under such circumstances. But not this one. She’s been wronged to a degree that her sadness washed away a long time ago and all that was left was rage, revenge, and unyielding determination. It takes a special someone who has been really hurt to stoop this low into darkness.

“Not yet, honey. Doing what you wanted remember?” 

Toji sighs, putting his phone on speaker as finally rests his gaze on the disheveled and pissy state of Greasy. His other hand steadies the gun aimed at Greasy’s dick and the hiccuping words flow once again. He’s so goddamn loud. Toji needs Ibuprofen, food, a fucking text from you (but he’s not thinking about that right now), and some sleep.

Greasy has already exhausted the usual litany of cries, but Toji endures the same performance again for his client on the phone.

“I’m sorry!”

“I won’t do it again!”

“Please give me another chance!”

Blah, blah, fucking blah.

In the early years of Toji’s time in darkness, he watched this performance firsthand. It’s a feeble attempt to cling to life, words uttered in desperation on the precipice of death, holding little substance. Once the adrenaline dies down, old habits resurface, seeping through the cracks formed by fear. And Greasy’s wife won’t be willing to pay such a hefty price a second time.

Removing the phone from speaker, Toji presses it firmly to his ear to drown out Greasy’s heightened cries. “You get all that, honey?”

“…yes.” 

Mrs. Greasy sounds a little unsure, but she can’t back down now. That’s the other irritating thing about revenge contracts. Deeds fueled by emotion are unpredictable, and in a business like this, you need to be absolutely certain of what you agree to. She could back down, but then that means she knows about this little business and Toji’s organization will have no choice but to come after her.

No, he needs this signed and sealed with a deposit in his account by the end of the night.

Toji waves the gun dismissively, rolling his eyes at Greasy’s flinching. “You wanna stay on for the rest?” It’s a courtesy Toji always extends, twisted though it may be, offering some semblance of closure to his clients.

Greasy’s face is a mess of mucus and sweat, and the front of his pants is wet. It’s fucking disgusting, but there’s a part of Toji that revels in the sight. Perhaps it’s the years of desensitization, but Toji relishes seeing those who deserve to get their due. Rotten people. Terrible people. And while cheaters aren’t inherently evil, they seldom learn until their world crumbles around them.

“Just get it done,” Mrs. Greasy replies firmly, though a tremor in her voice betrays her fear. She should be afraid and drowning her worries in bottles of wine tonight. It’s one of many logical responses to ordering the death of a cheating husband. She hangs up without another word.

Normally, Toji has a few words before he pulls the trigger or tightens the noose or whatever nefarious thing he’s ordered to do before his target goes limp. But the throbbing in his head has blossomed into a migraine just as he expected, he hasn’t eaten in ten hours, and he hasn’t heard from you since last night.

To put it quite simply, Toji is pissed off.

So he cocks his gun and does what he needs to do.

Despite the deafening roar of the gun, the ensuing silence is gratifying to his head. He doesn’t bother with the mess, that’s someone else’s job and he shoots off the text to the appropriate party. In a few hours, Greasy’s body will be dealt with in whatever way the cleaning crew decides. A death certificate will be signed by a coroner and an autopsy report will be forged by a pathologist—two of many on his organization’s payroll—and to the public Mr. Greasy will have been a loving man killed by his own heart. It’s almost poetic how efficiently things are run.

Thick red droplets splatter the grimy concrete, falling in a rhythmic cadence Toji knows all too well. Scenes like this are etched into his psyche, a constant hum in the background of his thoughts like a relentless generator. The instinctual response is to recoil, to scream, to flee at the sight.

But Toji has learned to numb himself to the gore and violence of his profession. To reach the level he has attained, to gain that notoriety, he had to confront the brutality without flinching. He had to absorb it, dream about it, and recall it with clarity when necessary, sketching it on a canvas as if it were fresh in his mind. 

Despite the beating he received, the small taste of freedom Toji savored at ten years old was just the beginning. Sneaking out became a routine and it didn’t take long for him to learn from Shiu how to swindle, scam, and steal. Every time he scaled the walls of the compound, Naobito’s wrath got longer and more painful. As if to teach him a lesson, as if the pain would make him fall back in line. 

But his uncle failed to realize that he took that hope from Toji long before he decided to seek more freedom. He had taken everything from him. He had nothing left to lose.

On the day that he learned of his mother’s passing, he leaped over the white brick walls and never returned.

The streets became his domain, cobblestones his makeshift bed unless a caring vendor offered him a room for the night or Shiu was able to convince his parents to let Toji sleep over for a few days. They ran the streets together with other kids their age, and as they grew, so did the prevalence of crime.

It didn’t take long for Toji to get mean, to embrace the cruelty that always radiated from his uncle’s pores. Survival demanded ferocity and each fight he got into honed his strength and capacity for violence until it simmered perpetually beneath his skin.

Despite the bloodshed ingrained in his past, Toji shies away from memories of his first kill. He was too young, too naive, and too angry. He refuses to conjure the face of his victim, to entertain the image of the man he eliminated in defense of an older woman who was being attacked. He pushes that memory down into a dark corner where he can never see it. He refuses to remember more.

But Toji does remember how cold it was that night—the rain, the tremble of his hands around the gun, the precision he summoned, the hollow emptiness that followed. Naobito’s influence had carved out any trace of emotion, leaving behind a vessel capable only of detached efficiency. It’s so ironic that it’s laughable. He became the very thing he feared.

When larger and more menacing gangs began to cast their shadows, Toji realized it wouldn’t be long until he would have to fall into one just to survive. He remembers a member from one of the more vicious gangs recruiting him. Not Yakuza, but just as structured and disciplined with a hideout, hot food, and warm beds. How could he possibly say no? 

In a year, Toji ascended the ranks, earning his place as Wakagashira—second in command—at the age of seventeen. If someone needed to disappear, Toji was the man to get it done. Morals were luxuries he couldn’t afford; his survival depended on their sacrifice.

Those efforts paid off. He moved from the local hardcore gang to a legitimate organization that gave him a mentor who showed him how to read, encouraged him to get his GED, and taught him how to be disciplined and mature. He began to get paid for his work and his world changed. 

He no longer had to think about his next meal; it was always within reach. He no longer endured cold showers from a garden hose and the leaky roof of his shed; he had comfort and a cheap apartment. He no longer sought affection; it was thrust upon him by every woman his age who could breathe the same air as him.

Everything that he has earned in his life, has been by his own hand, his own skill, his own diligence. 

But no amount of money and comfort can wash away the brutal beginnings of his life.

Toji swipes his finger on his phone screen, a new ritualized distraction that gives him satisfaction when he watches a row of orange jewels disappear. He’s reached level 150. And while he can’t make any money playing Candy Crush, it still fuels the addiction that he used to harness when he places bets. He has yet to admit freely that he’s a gambler, but you’re no idiot. His determination to win as many games of Spades on the 4th of July at your uncle’s was the first giveaway. 

“Jesus. You always this messy?” a voice from behind him calls out, prompting Toji’s hand to instinctively fly to the gun on his side as he whirls around. His breathing halts in reflex, ears straining to capture any subtle sound to give him an advantage. Yet, the sight that meets his eyes—a group of people clad in grey jumpsuits, their insignia faded—elicits only a frustrated exhale. “This how you do things over in Japan?”

There’s an undertone to the comment that Toji recognizes, but doesn’t bother to acknowledge as he walks past the crew and out of the warehouse. There’s no point entertaining them. No matter the contract, the cleaning crew always complains. New recruits in the organization, no matter how promising, have to work their way up and show they can handle any job. So Toji knows what it’s like to complain during cleanup.

But it is true, this isn’t how Toji does things. He’s quick and precise without leaving a mess, silent and stealthy—a reputation that has elevated him within the ranks. He’s heard the whispers, and seen the way those of lower rank either tense up or shine their eyes at him when he’s near. His boss boasts of him as Japan’s notorious hitman—nameless yet highly sought after for his efficiency. The Invisible Man.

With his years in the game, Toji can call the shots on how he does things. He only kills scum. Scum lower than himself. Raised in squalor, abused by those meant to care for him, he knows evil intimately. Each bullet he delivers to his targets brings a semblance of peace, and a sense of justice to his troubled soul. 

There was a point in his life when he wasn’t so troubled. Somewhere beneath the layers of filth and pain lies a man sheonce knew—a man of tenderness and warmth, embraced for a fleeting moment. A brief, yet exquisite time filled with the gentle caress of her hands, the comforting cadence of her voice, and the birth of a son, a fragment of her very soul. She was able to push through the anger he gave, wrap her hands around his, and never let go.

But like all things in Toji’s life, he’s constantly reminded that he is nothing. That he deserves nothing. And the world made sure to take her away to reaffirm that devastating fact. Six years of barely holding himself together in front of a child who needed him, made him realize he needed to do better. 

He’s not ready to give up his career just yet—he’s not sure if he ever can. However, one thing he is sure he can do is provide his son with a better life. He’s not the best father, he will admit to it, and he always has enough connections to give Megumi protection from his family and the dangers of his job. But it’s not enough anymore. He needs to be more involved, more attentive, more of a parent to fill the hole left by his mother. He can make sure his son has a childhood worth remembering.

Not like his own.

America is big, which means more opportunity, which means more money, and an entire continent away from the echoes of his past.

He should forge a future worth pursuing—a future where his kid can have simple joys he never got to experience; maybe a dog, a nice private school, and a father with a convenient job. Retirement flits through his mind more frequently these days, but he knows that truly getting out of the business may be next to impossible. A small part of him longs for that freedom again, a chance to escape all the shadows of his past. However, as his phone buzzes with yet another notification, he’s jolted back to the grim reality that he lives in.

Unknown: Not your usual leftovers but you still got the job done. You should have your payment later today.

Toji: Good. No more revenge contracts. I mean it.

Unknown: I have another if you’re interested, a classic one and done. Want to get you situated in the new market before people start demanding you.

Toji: Gimme a week.

Unknown: I can do that.

***

He’s downed three Ibuprofen, scarfed McDonald’s, and washed away the remnants of blood and frustration from his skin. In the bathroom mirror, his chest is flushed from the vigorous scrubbing, his scars appearing more pronounced against the backdrop of crimson. Each scar serves as a stark reminder of his tumultuous life, where every gain is intertwined with bloodshed and agony. 

Under the dim glow of the streetlights outside your uncle’s house, you likely didn’t notice the scars that mar his skin, a fact for which he’s grateful. It would only be more that he would have to lie to you about and he hasn’t thought of the story that he will tell you when you finally ask him.

He has no idea what sort of card he’s pulled to have you in his life. You deserve someone accomplished—a doctor, lawyer, or politician—certainly not a man who deals in bullets and bloodshed, someone like him. Men like Toji don’t deserve the kindness of a woman. Men like Toji don’t deserve the softness of skin scented with Shea butter and a hint of vanilla or the radiance of sunlight dancing on curly hair. Everything good and beautiful in this world slips from his scarred fingers. 

He feels insignificant, worthless, a stray wandering the streets, latching onto any speck of attention. Yet, despite your piercing glares and the thin thread that you have him on, you possess a warmth surrounded by fiery edges. The urge to subject himself to that searing heat is almost unbearable.

Both of your lives are consumed with demanding professions; his by contracts, yours by on-call duties and long shifts. It’s been about a week since your date and you both text frequently. You’re busy with your fifth consecutive 12-hour shift and you haven’t messaged him all day. He knows you’re busy, but there’s a piece of him that has been trained to expect unhappiness. 

Deep down, he knows you have every right to cut ties with him forever. He’s deceiving you in the worst possible way. If you were to uncover his deeds, the dark agreements he’s made and completed, you would surely turn away without a second glance. He had no intention of wanting more of you after that night. But women like you are rare, fleeting in appearance and he’s a selfish fucker. So, so selfish.

He was ready to ask you out again before the reality of his harsh world dragged him away. A contract that he thought would be simple and quick, had dragged into a week-long affair; interrupting little moments he could be spending with you. 

In those moments, alone with his gaze fixed on Greasy as he observed his behavior, he thought of you. He thought of seeing you again when you’re not yelling and screaming at a referee. Maybe for dinner? Somewhere decent where he can snicker at the way you glare at him in the low lights. Somewhere he can see you in a dress besides the red one he met you in, curls framing your face, naturally long lashes narrowing as he flirts with you without shame.

The knowledge that he doesn’t know more about you, leaves an odd fluttering in his stomach that he can only describe as annoyance. He’s known you for over a month but you are as mysterious as you are beautiful. With his skills, he could easily dig into the far corners of his organization to discover more about you. But the mere thought of knowing parts of you without your permission leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’s slept around enough to know a good-looking woman when he sees one, and you stood out like a genuine gem amidsta sea of counterfeit trinkets. Toji can’t deny that he approached you that night with a certain goal in mind, but the instant he looked down and called you ‘princess’, the minute you shot him a glare that could rival a city’s destruction, he was hooked.

He’s drawn to women who are independent, strong-willed, and able to speak up for themselves. The assertive ones were rare until he met you. That night at your uncle’s, you exuded a resoluteness he had never encountered before. You took pleasure solely for yourself, oblivious to the fact that your selfishness merely made you more enticing, inviting him to sink his fingers into your flesh and take root indefinitely. He had never been so delirious with lust, so utterly out of control with his body as you took and took. The sex was amazing, toe-curling, and intense but it wasn’t just that, it was you.

You, you, you—fuck.

Normally, he’s content with momentary encounters with women; lingering around for a few weeks, taking what they offer until he moves on to the next. It’s a practiced air that he’s used to breathing.

Breathe in—a good fuck on Monday that has a little bit of money for him to take advantage of until Friday. Breathe out—she’s had enough of him or he’s taken his fill and he finds a nice brunette on Saturday.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

But the air is a lot thinner when he tries to breathe you in, tight in his chest and too much but also not enough.

Because you’re a fierce little thing, yet he can see hints of vulnerability beneath the steely resolve of your gaze, a softness rarely revealed to others—especially men and those who challenge you. There’s a familiarity in that vulnerability, a long-forgotten sensation buried deep within him, hidden away in that same dusty recess of his being that’s been rattling for attention a lot more lately. 

The allure of you is like a swift current within a crystal-clear stream, beckoning him to immerse himself despite the rocky terrain beneath. Against his better judgment, he’s plunged headfirst without thinking about what he’s doing—about what’s at stake—and letting the current take him away.

You must have seen something in him, because, despite your protests and excuses, you dropped your defenses enough to show more of yourself. Enough to smile at the daisies he gave you when you thought he couldn’t see. Enough to mold your soft lips against his one more time.

His mind wanders back to the present again and falls into a familiar urge that has to be satiated. He knows that whatever it is, it stems from his childhood, but he doesn’t know how to stop it. He runs his fingers over his skin, tracing each scar he’s come to memorize to ensure nothing appears out of place. He can distinguish those from Naobito’s cruel hands and those earned from years in the field. He knows. Yet, he still feels the need to double-check, from the locks on the front door to the latches on every window, even poking his head into the attic before bed just for reassurance. 

He has to be sure that he’s safe, that he is secure in his home, away from prying eyes because Naobito could be his neighbor. He could be here in the US, here in this city, here watching his every move and he has to be safe.

His fingers tremble against the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink as his heart races, each breath shaky and uneven as it falls from his throat, his eyes fluttering to push away the sting as he begins his own routine that comes up a few times a week. A steady mantra to quell his rising panic.

He’s not here.

He will never be here.

He will never hurt you again.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

He hasn’t had to worry about Naobito in a very long time, but the logic of that falls to the wayside no matter the time of day. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone about it, he’s fine. The fear and pain will fade away with time. 

It will.

The chime of his phone interrupts his thoughts and makes him flinch. He exhales another shaky breath and presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, using the pressure to ground himself and get his thoughts back in order so he can go about his day with what remains of his sanity.

“Fuck,” Toji whispers and slides large hands down his face before snatching up his phone and making his way to his living room to plop on his couch.

Toji rolls onto his side, the cotton of the couch pillowing his cheek as he stares at the eggshell wall of his living room. The house he’s purchased is spacious, more than he’s ever had, but it’s not for him. It’s for Megumi. His son deserves a proper home, a place to grow and thrive. But it lacks warmth, devoid of the touches that make a house a home. The hardwood floors have no rugs to clothe them, the living room only has a couch and TV with no stand beneath it and the walls are bare and without character. Maybe he could go furniture shopping this weekend? Invite you if you’re not too tired from working.

When he finally checks his phone, his heart thumps heavily in his chest when he sees the notification from you.

You: I’ve had such a shit day. My car wouldn’t fucking start and work has been so busy. I’m exhausted.

Relief floods him too quickly for him to swallow down and analyze later. There’s no stopping it now, and Toji finds himself sitting up on the couch, his nose almost touching the screen of his phone as he types his response. So many thoughts bubble within him at once. The urge to ask you what he can do, the urge to come over to your house so he can take care of you—so many urges that his late wife would effortlessly draw from him against his own volition overwhelm him. 

Toji: How did you get to work

You: I took the bus.

He growls under his breath at your response, his mind flashing with every single danger possible at the thought of you traveling alone at night. Any sleazy man could watch the stop you get off, take note of the street, and come back later. Someone bigger than you, stronger than you. And even though you’re fierce and strong yourself, evil usually wins. The thought makes his blood boil. All you had to do was tell him about your car, and he would have picked you up immediately. But the words from you that shine from his phone are a blatant reminder of just how little you rely on others.

Toji: I’ll pick you up.

You: I get off at midnight. Toji it’s fine.

Toji: I don’t care. I’ll be in the parking lot when you come outside.

You don’t respond, leaving Toji to wonder whether you’re simply swamped with work again or pointedly ignoring him out of defiance. He’s showing up whether you like it or not. He tosses his phone toward the end of the couch and rolls onto his back, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling. 

Popcorn ceilings. He despises them. It’s a trivial thing to fixate on, but the textured surface only amplifies the visibility of dirt and grime, reminding him of memories of the dilapidated greenhouse shed where he grew up; of dust and dingy yukatas and soiled food. Toji realizes that the stupid thought is so annoying because of how quickly it reminds him of his life. It’s a vicious cycle of how his mundane thoughts can instantly make him think of a painful memory. 

Maybe that’s all his brain can do—think of the bad in his life. He’s not meant for happiness. Wonderful things like you are beyond his reach, and even his own son couldn’t be further detached from him. His thoughts are murky and desolate, so burdened with despair that he’s amazed his body still finds the will to wake up each morning. But he does, for some reason, he still does.

***

A few minutes past midnight when you slide into his car, Toji inhales the weary air you breathe out. Your bun is loose, curls frizzed along your hairline, your scrub top has baby spittle on it, and there are circles under your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted, but Toji’s heart stutters when he glimpses the determination in your gaze—resolute and fierce even when dead on your feet. 

And suddenly, he can’t help himself. He leans over and presses his lips to your cheek, siphoning the softness against the chapped edges of his lips to make the coldness in his chest warm over. You don’t smack him or tell him to behave or call him names for taking something without asking.

“Am I at least allowed to do that without you smacking me?” Toji asks you, a soft smirk on his face as he takes in your familiar glare. It almost washes away the blood and murder he had his hands in this morning.

You wave him away in mild annoyance, but Toji sees something on your face. With his years of perception, he notices the subtle tug of your cheek as it pulls inward for you to bite down on it, your lips fighting to contain the smile that threatens to bloom. One day, he will pull a smile from you freely. One day.

As he drives to your apartment, he unconsciously takes deep inhales to savor the delicate vanilla beneath the sharp tang of hand sanitizer and sterile hallways that radiate from your side of the car. He turns on the classic rock radio station that he played last time you were both in the car together, and you hum along again without thinking. Only this time, your hums are broken, and without strength, your head lolling against the window until you slowly fall asleep.

When he parks the car at your complex, he doesn’t wake you up immediately. In sleep, you can’t scowl at him, but even now, your demeanor remains guarded. Your shoulders are tense, hands clutching the strap of a well-worn leather bag, cheeks flushed with a fever you vehemently deny even though he can smell the common cold in the car. 

Only two minutes have passed, yet his thoughts are consumed solely by you. Not about the people he’s killed. Not about the abuse he’s suffered. Not even the echoes of Naobito’s taunts that intrude when he least wants them to. 

Just you. 

He will earn all of you, just like you asked of him.

That rattling in his chest he felt the last time you were both together makes itself known again, pushing against his belief that his happiness will never be permanently his own. Maybe the sight of you rolling your eyes and offering him little pieces of affection with the smirk you try to hide is the very thing he needs to breathe a little easier. 

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t quite figured it out. 

So for now, he’ll grasp whatever morsel of solace he can, disregarding the ache in his chest that gets worse when he breathes in your air, knowing you remain unaware of such a significant aspect of his life.

He hopes this never catches up to him, and if it does, he hopes that you can forgive him. He hopes that he can forgive himself for taking from you when someone more deserving should occupy his place. 

Until that reckoning arrives, he’ll indulge in his selfishness, because right now, it’s the only thing bringing him a semblance of joy.

Thanks for reading!

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #Toji Fushiguro x black reader #toji fushiguro x black fem reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #black fem reader #black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #mysteria157 #masterlist #anime x black reader #Toji Fushiguro fanfic #jjk fanfic #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro fluff #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #toji fanfic #toji smut #toji x reader #toji jjk #jujutsu toji #soft toji #jjk au #In Too Deep

[mysteria157]

Chapter 19: Final

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~12.4k (the last one I am in SHAMBLES)

CW: fluff, profanity, explicit sexual content, tears (from me, hopefully you too)

Summary: Things finally come together.

Notes: Thank you all so SO much for your support, for your kind words, for your likes and reblogs. It means so much just to hear one person tell me how much they loved my story. This was my first ever fic and I am so proud of it. It’s given me so much confidence and strength. I’m so sad to let this go, but I’m happy that I could close it well. Happy reading and I hope you enjoy!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated &lt;3

Divider: @cafekitsune

Previous Chapter | Ao3 | JJK Masterlist

It Had To Be You Masterlist (Complete)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

“You’re quiet.”

Your voice startled Kento, causing his shoulders to briefly tense up before relaxing as he glanced up from the ball of dough in his hands. Since the early hours of the morning when you both had risen to prepare for the grand opening of his bakery, Kento had been unusually chatty, filled with excitement for the day ahead. However, as the opening hour approached, he began to fall quiet and you could see the subtle signs of anxiousness creep into his demeanor. He flinched again when you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want to postpone the opening? We can if you’re not feeling ready.” It was an out that you knew he wouldn’t take, but the suggestion still let him know that you were paying attention. 

Turning to you, Kento leaned down to press a reassuring kiss to your lips, acknowledging his nervousness but finding comfort in your presence. 

“I’m a bit anxious, but I’ll be okay. As long as you’re here.”

And so an hour later, on a warm day in September, the bakery doors swung open to a line of eager customers and Kento like the gentleman he was, offered a soft smile and polite bow to each one. You had to peel him away from the door and shove him into the kitchen so he could stay focused. All of the goods that sat pretty and delicious in the glass display case beneath the register sold out in less than an hour and Kento and his coworkers were more than happy to make two more batches to meet the demand. 

Amidst the flurry of the successful opening, familiar faces arrived, injecting a touch of chaos into the serene atmosphere. Not even two steps into the bakery and Gojo was already demanding sweet bread. Kento was too euphoric with the day’s success to care and he kindly brought Gojo a plate of sweet bread if only to keep him quiet for a few minutes. 

Chiyo and Santo could only contain your daughter for a few seconds when they walked through the door. From the sight of her father, Ulani was squealing happily and yelling ‘Dadda!’ before wobbling across the bakery to her father who squatted down to pull her into his arms.

“Hello, my dove,” he cooed, planting a series of kisses on her cheeks that made her giggle loud into the bread-smelling air. 

Ulani of course wasn’t much help at the register, she was more interested in trying to repeat the commands her father gave her. At 14 months she could only really say a few words and understand the significance, but she loved to repeat as much as she could.

“Now we say ‘thank you, come again’,” Kento spoke softly in her hair, securing her back as she sat on the counter and handed one of the customers a receipt.

“Tank you! Umajain!”

He chuckled down at her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Close enough, dove.”

You kept your distance, knowing Kento was absorbed in the bustling operation of his business—greeting customers, overseeing the kitchen, and managing his employees. 

“Dadda is a natural, isn’t he?” you whispered in your daughter’s ear as she sat in your lap, her hands sticky with sweet bread. She dug her hands into what remained of her treat and stuffed a chubby hand in her mouth.

“Dadda make?” she asked, gesturing up at you with her wet and sticky hand. The blue clip in her hair was close to falling out and it hung by her ear on the tendril of a curl. She was a wild thing and you and Kento had both given up quite early trying to tame her. She would learn the world at her own pace, in her own time. It was just up to you and Kento to make sure she was safe and protected as she did so.

“Yes, Dadda made that. Is it good?” She hummed happily in response, stuffing more bread into her mouth. “Let’s wipe our hands off, baby.” You handed her a napkin, content to let her be as independent as possible even though she wiped her hands and mouth poorly. You snorted, taking over to wipe what she missed. 

Kento’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, something so rare and treasured that the thought of hearing it in public seemed so foreign to you. When you looked up in his direction, you were met with him behind the counter, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen and his eyes already on you.

Before you could even offer a typical eyebrow lift of mirth, Ulani was wiggling from your lap and jumping to the floor—something you would probably have to start talking to her about before she hurt herself. Kento’s attention immediately shot to his daughter, and he scooped her up, carrying her away into the kitchen with only a wink in your direction.

The sun was setting by the time the ‘Closed’ sign was turned over on the glass doors of the bakery, painting the redone floors a rich orange that stretched the shadows of the large fiddle leaf in the corner across the entire floor. Chiyo had somehow conned you and Kento into allowing Ulani stay the night at her house and now, only your friends remained in the empty establishment.

“I would like to propose a toast!” Gojo spoke. Somehow, he managed to procure a small bottle of sake and shot glasses for all of you. “To Kento and the opening of his bakery. Yu would be—is very proud. Of course, 95% of this wouldn’t have even been possible without the future Mrs. Nanami but…Kento you finally got your dream. I’m proud of you and I know the rest of us are too. So, to Kento!” 

Kento didn’t bother to hide the dark blush on his cheeks, and he allowed a small smile to grace his face before lifting his glass in celebration.

“Are you ready to go, love?” Kento’s voice called from behind you an hour later. Your friends left a while ago, and you found yourself admiring Yu’s nerve plant on the windowsill while Kento wrapped things up in the kitchen. As you stopped tracing the leaves, you turned to face him. He was leaning against the door again, muscular arms stretching his white baker’s jacket in a delicious way, his blonde hair falling over his forehead as his brown eyes met yours without the cover of his glasses. 

“Giving that plant love will not make it grow. It’s incredibly dramatic.”

“You’re incredibly dramatic,” you retorted, propping yourself up on his desk. 

His eyes caught the action, narrowing on the way your jeans creased at the hip, curves pulling the sides tight as they rested on his oak desk. 

“Am I?” he questioned playfully, pushing off the door frame to make his way toward you. You kept your composure, ignoring the way your heart picked up in speed as the distance between you both grew shorter with each stride from him. Your legs parted for him easily, allowing him to step between and tower over you. “You’ve hardly shown me attention all day. On the opening day of my bakery.”

You lifted your chin in defiance, holding back a giggle even though he casted a jokingly admonishing gaze down at you. “How shameful of me. What can I do to make you feel better?”

He hummed, pursing his lips in faux contemplation as his hands slid along your jeaned thighs. His fingers dug into the fabric, pressing searing indentations into your body before yanking you closer to him.

“I couldn’t ask you to wake up every morning to make sweet bread for the business, so how about you relay the recipe to me?” Truthfully, you planned to pass the recipe to him later tonight as a surprise, but this could work in your favor too. “You walked around this entire place looking radiant and yet hardly a word my way.” Beneath his chiding, you could sense a light pout against your neck as he pressed his lips to your skin, igniting a fiery heat in your stomach.

“You were busy running a bakery, I didn’t want to bother you.” He bit the thin skin at the crease of your neck in reply, pulling a sharp gasp from behind your lips. “Seducing me won’t—”

“Don’t lie,” he interrupted, pushing against your sternum to make you lay down along his desk. The cold oak dug into your back, but your skin burned right through the chill. 

He was riding on the high of his success, eager in the way he trailed his large hands up the fabric of your jeans and dipped against the small gap of visible skin between your shirt and belt. His calloused fingertips slid up the skin of your torso, pushing your shirt to bunch beneath your bra. Deep brown eyes traversed the landscape of you uninhibited, hunger saturating his irises and pupils blowing out quickly before he dipped down to nip the skin beside your belly button. 

“Be a good girl and tell me the secret ingredient,” he whispered.

The command made you shudder, your eyes fluttering and breath catching in your throat as his wet tongue dipped into your belly button before sliding up the faint stretch marks on your torso. The heat in your belly began to boil, popping and crackling into what would be a raging inferno in only a few short seconds.

“What’s in it for me?” you croaked, uncaring of just how desperate you sounded.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Right here…any way you want it.”

It was tempting, and the thought of him fucking you seven ways to Sunday on his desk did little to hold your determination. “And what if I don’t tell you?”

He chuckled, soft and vibrating against the skin of your belly before he rested his chin on your sternum. 

“I’ll still give you whatever you wish. I’m hoping you’re feeling charitable today.”

Your heart trembled at the sight of him smiling at you, teeth digging into his bottom lip before he pressed a gentle kiss to your clothed sternum. The warmth of it bled through the fabric and onto your skin, seeping through your pores to pour over your rapidly beating heart. His words were always so sweet, so freely giving to you no matter what. It was admirable.

But your love for teasing him far outweighed his words.

“You can guess.” 

He barked a sharp chuckle into your sternum before heaving a dramatic sigh in acceptance of his challenge ahead.

“Molasses.” His first guess was accompanied by full lips kissing down your torso, each touch making your skin flinch with the sensation.

“You asked Yu that and the answer is unchanged.”

A noise of frustration against the skin above the hem of your pants, thick and heady with lust and lack of patience. You refused to give in, even though your desire was hard to ignore as his fingers began to undo the button and zipper of your pants, tugging your jeans off your legs in a hurry.

“Tell me,” he whispered against the seam of your panties, temptation sliding on your skin like molten lava. You tried to ignore the command as best as you could, your head slowly clouding with lust as you felt his tongue dip beneath the seam to tease the skin above your clit. You sunk your fingers into his loose blonde locks, tightening the strands amongst your knuckles as he teasingly pulled your panties to the side, your cunt clenching from the cool air against it. “Tell me, baby.”

The feel of his tongue licking a long stripe up your clit pulled a high whine from your throat, your resolve crumbling in seconds. 

“I—” you gasped at the feel of him slipping your clit into his hot mouth, arching your hips further towards him.

Thirty minutes later, with him panting against the sweaty skin of your neck, his cock softening inside of you after making you cum twice before finding his own end, you whispered the ingredient breathily into the air. 

“Honey in the batter? That’s it?” Even though he was winded, you can taste his disappointment with himself. “Yu always made it unnecessarily difficult.” He hummed in reproach before a chuckle wrapped around the edges of the noise as he laughed into your skin. You carded a hand through his sweaty hair, sliding your fingertips against silky strands as your breathing evened out. 

A few minutes later, he pulled away from your neck to look down at you, his gaze filled with adoration. You reached out, brushing his locks away from his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. The golden locks flop back into place, shrouding parts of his gaze, and your fingers trailed down the soft skin of his cheek, traced along the gentle upward slope of his nose before outlining his bottom lip. Your ring reflected off the light emanating from the lamp on his desk, flashing you a reminder of your tie to him. His lips curved into a gentle smile before turning to place a kiss into your open palm.

“Thank you for being here with me today,” he spoke softly, his words echoing with sincerity and love that you so often felt. “I love you.”

You reflected the sentiment back to him without hesitation and smiled softly before you felt him slant his lips against your own.

***

“Promise me that you’ll behave,” you demanded of Kento from your perch on the living room floor, sitting across from Ulani as she pressed another button on her interactive toy. The annoying contraption chirped, ‘The cow goes moo!’ for what felt like the millionth time in five minutes, yet you maintained a smile to encourage her. Ulani gleefully responded with ‘moo’ each time, and it made the desire to fling the toy out the window a little less prevalent than before. You were using it as a tool to keep her distracted until your mother would arrive.

It was the first time Ulani would meet her, a prospect you had contemplated and ultimately embraced. Recent months had seen an improvement in your relationship you’re your mother through shared meals, frequent texts, help with wedding planning, and occasional phone calls at your discretion. She had never asked to meet Ulani and it was that small action that made you realize she gave you full control of how much you wanted your mother in your life.

So you would give her one more olive branch today.

You just needed your fiancé to comply as well.

Said fiancé rolled his eyes from behind his coffee mug, feigning nonchalance that was practically second nature to him.

“I’ll have you know that I have no problem with your mother now.” 

A lie. 

“And besides, I have phone calls to make with the caterers and the wedding planner to make sure they are on schedule. So I won’t really be talking to her.”

Kento had taken on the brunt of wedding planning because he liked order and wanted everything to be perfect, and you were fine with that. It allowed you to focus on other aspects, such as invitations, the bridal party, and your wedding dress. You hadn’t done much, just as Kento intended. 

Before you could respond to him, the doorbell rang, signaling your mother’s arrival.

“Hello, Kento,” you heard her greet him, her voice soft and free of malice.

“Naveah,” he responded, short and with an air as if she had already ruined his day.

You rolled your eyes. 

Your mother walked into your home—it wasn’t the first time, but it was the first with your daughter also present. Her coils brushed her shoulders, a light blue dress falling like water over her small frame as she smiled at you. You were getting used to the warmth that filled your chest from the sight, an affection that you had always craved growing up now returning—slowly—but without lingering pain.

Kento excused himself, leaning down to kiss your cheek and pretending to ignore your glare as he walked away and left the three of you alone. The interactive toy chirped, ‘The dog goes bark!’ and Ulani’s loud bark in reply pulled a soft smile onto your mother’s face, her eyes hopeful and yearning. 

“Come meet her.”

She moved quickly around the sofa, unable to hide her excitement, and stopped short as her gaze fell upon your daughter. Ulani stopped playing with the toy, the sight of someone unfamiliar to her making her inch closer to you. She loved people and was always open to meeting them, but like her father, she was observant and could sense your slight tension. 

Your mother sunk down to her knees, giving Ulani her space and interacting with her toy instead. You rubbed your daughter’s back, offering her your own reassurance that you would be okay, and she used your touch as guidance to scoot back to your mother, the toy between them both as Ulani began to play along.

“She’s quite perceptive,” she remarked, a gentle smile on her face as she watched Ulani press a button and mimic the noise.

“She gets it from her father…and…I know Kento probably isn’t the nicest right now—”

“Don’t you worry about Kento,” she interjected, delighting in the giggle that fell from Ulani’s lips. “I deserve it. The love and protection he has for you is so strong that it reminds me of your father.” 

It was the first time she had ever spoken of him—the first time you had ever heard about him. All you knew was that he died before you were born, and your mother was so distraught that she cut off all connection with his side of the family.

“What was he like?” you couldn’t help but ask.

She pulled in a deep breath, her eyebrows pinching together as if in pain before she pressed another button on Ulani’s toy. “Incredibly handsome with a thick Texas accent and curly brown hair. He was very much a ‘fight the power’ kind of man and spent most of his time protesting social events. We met in college…he was…always the loudest one in the room but always focused on me. It was overwhelming at times.” Ulani unsteadily climbed to her feet and wobbled across the living room to her toy box, leaving you both with each other. “I was so focused on school and doing what my father wanted and he taught me how to…live. It astounded me with just how much he loved me. He would say the most beautiful things with little effort…almost as easy as breathing. During that time, I pulled away from my father’s ideals and just…fell in love. My father hated him.” 

You listened quietly, your heart aching at the small comparisons between Kento and your father and feeling some connection even if it was faint. When Ulani made her way back, she was holding another toy, babbling to your mother in broken English that she pretended to follow along with. Ulani didn’t ask as she plopped down in your mother’s lap, her back to her as she began to slide the colored blocks around with a focused gaze.

“Cancer took him away from me. Quick and out of the blue and I couldn’t function for a long time…I couldn’t speak to his family or even look at them without being in so much pain. And so I stopped speaking to them. It was really drastic but when you love someone as much as I did your father, any reminder of is too painful to face. I miss him. Every minute of every day, for the past thirty-one years. So don’t apologize for Kento. I don’t blame him one bit. I hope to earn his trust one day.”

She would, in time she would. Kento was not the type to hold grudges and that disdain would fade the more he saw how accepting you were becoming.

“Do you think you’ll ever reach out to his side of the family?”

She looked up at you from Ulani, shooting a soft smile that was reminiscent of your own when you caught a glimpse of yourself in photographs and Instagram stories with Ome. Her eyes crinkled just a little at the edges, a small indentation to showcase her age even though her skin was as smooth as her teenage years. 

“I did last week actually…I wanted to surprise you. They are flying into Sendai this week and I was wondering if you wanted to—”

“Yes,” you interrupted without hearing the rest. If there was any chance to meet more of your family that was not your mother’s side, you would take it in a heartbeat. “Do you think they would come to the wedding?” The wedding was a month away and while you had room for a few RSVPs, you didn’t even know if they would want to come.

Your mother’s chuckle pulled you from your running thoughts, the questions dying into the chaos of your mind as she shot another smile at you, the motherly affection returning with a bombarding flourish. “I’m sure they would love that.”

Her words were filled with hope, promise crispy along the edges as they floated in and out of your ears. The feeling of your chest swelling with happiness and the burn behind your eyes before your vision began to swim made you bite into your bottom lip to keep yourself under control. You could tear up after she left, give yourself a moment or two to just be happy that things were falling into place. Slowly, but still fitting together.

“Gamma?” Ulani peeped at your mother, looking up at her with her father’s sharp gaze, a flicker of understanding all over her face as she took in your interactions with each other. She was way too inquisitive for such a young age and your chest ached with the essence of her youth flying a little too quickly for comfort.

“Yes, I’m your grandma,” your mother answered, smiling warmly down at her before placing a soft kiss to her chubby cheek. Ulani took the affection without complaint and turned back to her blocks.

“She’s beautiful…and so smart. Just like you at her age and I’m—” she paused, her nostrils flaring fractionally and eyes beginning to mist along the edges. “I’m so proud of you.”

The compliment was unexpected, her fondness once again warming you from the inside out. Almost a year ago, the very thought of her trying to offer you a smile or compliment made your stomach roll with disdain. But she worked hard to earn your affection, to earn your trust. And even though it was not smooth sailing just yet within you, the waters were a little less rocky than before.

So, you swallowed the warmth that your mother offered you, let it simmer in your belly for as long as possible, and gave her a small smile of gratitude in return, hopefully as a sign of smoother waters to come.

***

Ulani was the perfect flower girl. The sight of her in a sage green tulle dress, embroidered with flowers along the fabric, made her the most beautiful girl in the large Nakameguro garden where the wedding was being held. Though she was unsteady on her feet, she was determined to fulfill her duty on her own. Using her father as guidance, she dug her chubby hands into the small basket on her arm and haphazardly threw pink and deep red petals along the aisle as she walked closer to Kento. When she made it to her father’s feet at the end of the aisle, she gazed up at him, whispering a happy ‘Hi Dadda,’ up at him before receiving a fat kiss on her cheek in praise. 

“Five bucks says that he will cry.” Rory’s voice from next to you elicited a sharp but hushed giggle from your lips. 

Both of you had been fairly quiet since the music started; Rory was providing moral support for your fraying nerves by taking your late father’s place to walk you down the aisle. His twists were redone and looked brand new, the ends tied off with rubber bands and his hairline freshly cut, they hung down his shoulders and brushed the black fabric of his tux. 

“He won’t cry just yet,” you offered, wrapping your lace-covered arm around his tux-covered one as you felt the moment you would have to make your entrance drawing closer. “Fifty bucks says he will tear up.”

Rory shook softly with laughter, patting the top of your arm linked with his. “Deal.” Familiar eyes took you in, the same eyes you had watched and laughed at and cried with for as long as you could remember. The same ones that took you to your first ceramics class and taught you how to love the world. “You look beautiful.”

You elbowed him in a well-known reply, feeling your cheeks heating quickly as your nerves began to unravel at the ends. 

You had put a lot of work into your dress, which swung down to the ground in rich thin white layers. It was adorned with 3D lace and embroidered faintly with white flowers and sheer fabric that hugged your curves, extending throughout the train that trailed behind you. The sweetheart neckline and off-shoulder sleeves were perfect touches to showcase your creamy brown skin. Your jewelry was simple; a diamond necklace that Kento had gifted you last year, and small diamond studs in your ears. Your loose curls hung down your back in dark tendrils, adorned with small cherry blossoms from the past Sakura season and partially covered with a sheer mantilla veil that fell to the floor along with your train. 

You felt beautiful.

This was like any other day: waking up and going to sleep next to him, spending every moment with him. Nothing had changed. But to showcase your love so publicly…that was what made you nervous. You and Kento treasured your vulnerability with each other and cherished the privacy of it. Even though your friends and family were well-versed in your relationship, it was still a part of you that was sacred. 

So when the warm October air brushed your skin as you walked down the aisle with Rory, your heart raced too fast for you to control. Your blood pulsed through your veins, hot and burning from the inside out. Chiyo and Santo’s smiles helped quell the anxiety just a little, and seeing your father’s side of the family made the next breath you took a little easier to fill into your lungs. Ulani’s presence certainly helped as well; for once, she sat in Gojo’s arms without squirming, hugging his neck tightly, and beaming a toothy smile at you.

“What will you do if I leave you at the altar because I’m nervous?” you asked playfully, rolling to straddle his lap. Kento’s large, warm hands slid up the naked skin of your thighs, squeezing in soft reassurance before pulling your attention to him.

“You won’t. Just keep your eyes on me. It’s just like any other day when the rest of the world hardly matters and it’s just you, me, and Ulani.”

“And what if I still decide to leave? What if I don’t want to get married in front of everyone?”

A small huff of laughter escaped his nose, his bare chest shaking from the effort. “Then I’ll follow you and we’ll get married wherever you want.”

“Me and you?”

“Me and you, my love.”

The memory seemed to fill your lungs with an unexpected strength, and as you exhaled deeply, your gaze moved from your daughter to Kento, who was just a few steps away from her. 

And god was he a sight to behold.

He wore the nicest black tux you had ever seen, with a white undershirt adorned with crisp black buttons and an even nicer black tie. His cufflinks, inherited from his father, flickered from the low sunlight and black pants hugged him perfectly. Even though his eyes were without his typical glasses, his blonde locks were parted and gelled in their signature style, free from his forehead to display every single emotion on his face. So unbelievably handsome and soon, he would be yours completely in every sense. 

You had to suppress every possible joke in your head when Rory finally handed you off and your hands brushed against Kento’s warmth. The sensation instantly calmed you, grounded you to the floor as you felt your nerves finally begin to cool down and settle.  

“Hey you,” you playfully teased, biting your bottom lip as you watched Kento’s beautiful burnt umber eyes well up with tears.

“I…” he tried to speak, but stopped abruptly, swallowing what seemed to be the hardest lump in his throat. Full lips parted, desperately trying to say something, anything, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, blinking rapidly to get himself under control. “Truly beautiful.”

You gave his hands a gentle squeeze, hoping that the touch would be enough to convey that you were there in front of him.

“I’m riding on fifty dollars if you can hold it together, so no crying.”

Dark blonde eyebrows furrowed intensely as if in disbelief, but then a sharp laugh bubbled from his throat, his tight grip on your hands pulling you closer to him.

Jin stood between you both as he officiated and Gojo’s hands shook only mildly when he handed the rings to you and Kento. You both decided not to have vows. You knew that Kento could only be so vulnerable in front of others, and you hated to talk in front of crowds anyway. So it was the perfect choice for you both. 

Yuji spent the entire time in tears, and you weren’t sure if it was because he was happy for you and his sensei or because he had missed a chance with you. Your mother smiled the most you had ever seen from her, and you found that the sight wasn’t unwelcome this time. 

When the rings slid back onto your fingers, the cool metal against your skin felt like an electric current, bringing you back to life, back to the present, back to the moment of Kento’s beautiful eyes on your linked hands before they slid behind your neck to pull you close for a kiss that sealed your union with each other. 

You should have been more insistent on encouraging him to dance more. It was truly a pity, given his obvious talent. He murmured about Gojo’s inability to tear his gaze from Ome as he effortlessly lead you across the polished floor set up in the garden. Despite his skill, he declined to entertain anything more out of character. Instead, he tenderly drew his mother into his embrace, guiding her fluidly across the dance floor, offering her a gentle smile as she conversed with him amongst the music.

Everyone wanted to dance with you, and for almost an hour, you rotated from Rory to your newly acquainted uncles and cousins on your father’s side, to Yuji and the rest of your friends. You were deliriously happy as they spun you around the dance floor, hair loose and cherry blossoms fluttering from the strands with every movement of air around you. 

“What’s the verdict?” you asked Kento later after you both had cut the cake. There was still a smear of the dessert on your cheek from when he playfully smeared it on your face earlier. To you, it tasted delicious; an elderflower-soaked lemon cake with blackberry jam and vanilla buttercream icing. It was your second piece in less than fifteen minutes.

Kento hummed softly, taking another bite and pursing his lips. He was the perfect picture of relaxed. His tie was undone, and two black buttons had been unfastened. His blonde hair was free from its gelled hold and fell in heavy strands over his forehead. There was a rosy tint to his cheeks from the glass of expensive Hibiki whiskey on the table in front of him, and a smile lingered at the corners of his lips that had been there since he said, ‘I do’.

“It seems I’ll have to steal the recipe,” he said with a coy grin, not overly expressing his appreciation for something he had grumbled about for months. “The rest of the food is delicious. I did well.” 

You were in the middle of rolling your eyes when you heard Gojo from across the dance floor.

“I swear, they can speak for my character.” You watched him guide Ome’s mother toward you and Kento’s table. 

Ome’s mother radiated beauty just like her daughter. She stood with a petite stature, and her curves accentuated the elegant fit of her Iro and Buba. The attire’s rich lavender lace cascaded to the floor, highlighting the warm undertones of her deep chocolate skin under the ambient light from the reception’s outdoor lamps dancing in the evening October breeze. Her Gele was a testament to the expert craftsmanship of her Nigerian culture; while it seemed artificial, you knew the painstaking process of hand pressing every layer to make the headpiece commonly worn for Nigerian formal events.

Adorned in a sharp Amani suit and signature circular sunglasses, Gojo exuded an air of affluence. His unique snow-white hair, naturally tinted a soft shade of purple at the roots, framed his striking eyes as they pierced the darkness behind his shades. Eyes always followed him when he walked into a room and his confidence never wavered for as long as you knew him. But you could see the unease in his features when he paused before you and Kento. 

When her eyes met you both, Ome’s mother momentarily overlooked Gojo and greeted each of you with a kiss on the cheek, giving a notably lingered one on Kento’s. Despite only meeting him twice in person, her fondness for him was evident and her husband was too oblivious to notice. Kento would never admit it, but you knew he liked her attention. She fed him and sent him recipes any chance she could get.

“Kento, my darling your friend tells me that his character is good enough for my daughter. I know you will not lie to me.” She knew not to ask you, you were too kind and like her daughter, she needed the truth no matter how awful it would be.

Gojo’s face bloomed a vivid shade of red, the most intense you had ever witnessed, as he nervously watched Kento take a long swig of his Hibiki and gently caressed the fabric upon your thigh before letting out a long sigh. 

“He’s loud,” Gojo sputtered, a tight and foreign sound from unnaturally glossy lips, snow-white eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he opened his mouth ready to defend himself. You couldn’t help the snort into your wine glass. “He’s annoying and petulant like a child.”

“Nanamin!”

“But he’s a good man,” Kento finished, rolling his eyes at Gojo’s complaining voice. “Out of all the women Gojo has been with, Omelia is the only one who has made him grow up and show her how much of a man he can be. As loathed as I am to say it, he’s worth it.”

Ome’s mother beamed down at Kento, pressing yet another kiss to his cheek before turning her scrutiny to Gojo. He jumped, shoulders stiff and back ramrod straight as she circled him slowly like a vulture would to dying prey. You had never seen him so fearful—well to this degree—any other type of fear was usually because Ome was in his presence.

“You’re tall,” Ome’s mother began, speaking as if logging the details for future study. Her accent was beautiful, heavy but delicate in the way she spoke, giving her a poised air and a level of fear, for whoever crossed her path. “A pretty face but you’re nothing but skin and bones, you need to eat more.”

“Yes ma’am!” Gojo conceded, hands at his sides like a soldier recalling orders for battle, his face flaming.

The chuckles emanating from Kento’s body slowly grew louder, much to your own amusement.

Ome’s mother narrowed her eyes, inspecting his expensive dress shoes, the fit of his pants, the hygiene of his hands and nails. “My Omelia is not a lazy woman and she won’t tolerate disrespect. And while she makes her own living, I want her to be taken care of. Can you do that?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered.

She stopped, unimpressed, and sharpened her gaze. You’ve been on the end of that look before and you couldn’t help the shudder that traveled up your spine. “Yes what?”

“Yes ma’am!” You watched the Adam’s apple in Gojo’s skinny neck bob as he tried to swallow. 

Kento laughed harder, taking another swig of his whiskey and truly enjoying the display. 

“Mama, leave him alone,” you eventually chided, though you couldn’t suppress your own laughter. She relented with a roll of her eyes, granting Gojo a final, evaluating glance before clicking her teeth.

“How about you get me a drink then?”

It was more of a command than a suggestion, and thankfully Gojo had been around Ome long enough to decipher the true meaning behind words when spoken from her to catch on. He offered his arm to her, and gave a nervous smile before she conceded and let him pull her away.

Gojo threw a seething glare back at Kento and your husband tilted his head back and guffawed. You felt like you were in the Twilight Zone, to see him so carefree, so blissfully happy and laughing amongst his family and friends.

When you glanced over at Kento, his wide smile and high cheekbones emphasized his beauty, and as he stroked your thigh, his gaze met yours before he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. 

“How much longer?” You could practically taste the impatience in his voice as it wafted down to ghost over your face, and when he nipped your bottom lip, it told you all you needed to know about his current state of self-restraint. 

You had changed from your wedding gown hours ago and you didn’t miss the way his eyes took in every inch of your halter top long lace dress that split up one side for him to slide his hand against your shea butter-scented brown skin. Despite it being October, it was incredibly warm, but the hairs on the back of your neck stood up straight when you watched his gaze darken just a little more than what was decent for the public eye.

“I’m sure not long now,” you offered in reassurance, though your self-control wavered when he traced his lips along your ear. The locks of your curls kissed the skin of your temple, fluttering in the light current from his breath. 

What needed to take place during a reception again? You cut the cake, speeches were said, dances were made, and food was served. It was just merriment at this point until it was time to send off the couple. And you needed it to get here and fast. 

“I like this dress,” he whispered, the timbre of his voice caressing the fabric of your dress before sliding up your legs to the pulsing heat between your legs.

Composing yourself, you took a sip of wine, focusing on the sweet taste sliding down your throat and trying your best to maintain an air of decorum despite the temptation whispering in your ears. No one was paying attention; it was all fleeting glances at the happy couple as they all danced and drank and ate with each other. But you knew if you gave Kento an avenue to get in your panties, he might not be a gentleman.

“I’m sure the reward will be worth it later tonight.” Your words lingered in the air, laden with innuendo, thick with lust and expectation. The tension was palpable and Kento sucked a hiss through clenched teeth before downing the rest of his Hibiki in one fluid motion, his leg beginning to bounce in place.

The details of the farewell celebration were a blur—you recalled sparklers and choruses of ‘good luck’ and ‘goodbye’, but those memories quickly faded as you and Kento settled into the backseat of the large SUV that would take you to your hotel in downtown Tokyo. 

Before you could reach for the seatbelt, he was on you. He pulled you into his lap and both of your legs were straddling his waist before you gasped at the feel of hot hands sliding up the skin of your thighs, digging and insistent as if you would disappear if he blinked. 

“Ken,” you whispered, a feeble attempt at a warning, even as his lips found your neck and your eyes rolled with the weakening of your resolve. “K-ken the driver!”

“Hopefully he has earplugs.” 

Dismissive of concern and to the point, his words sent a shiver down your spine, an involuntary clench of your cunt when his teeth grazed the delicate skin of your collarbone. Each caress of his tongue fought to unleash the moan trapped in your throat, rattling and begging to be let free. 

“He can turn on the radio, open the windows, sing as loud as he wants. I don’t care. I need you, now.”

His tongue traced the seam of your halter top dress, pressing firmly against the soft swell of your breasts. He normally had some level of restraint when it concerned his libido around others, but it must be the high of the wedding, the delicious thought of having a wife that had him hard and throbbing against the thin fabric of your panties. His grip tightened on the meat on your hips, and he rolled you hard and long against him in a way that made a honeyed gasp slide from his lips.

But you had to stop him because the minute he slid inside of you, you would be a wanton and moaning mess and the driver might need to quit out of sheer embarrassment. 

The penthouse suite was only a short stop of reprieve before your flight tomorrow afternoon. Your bags were already sitting against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and the floor was decorated in an array of red flower petals that you and Kento both glared at before meeting each other’s eyes and laughing.

“So ridiculous,” he chuckled, kicking his expensive shoes against a petal and watching it slide across the hardwood floor. He approached you with gentler steps, a little more timid now, and took your hands in his. 

“Champagne?” he offered, voice low and tempting and you nodded in response against the way your belly simmered with awakening desire.

Ome did a good job on the lingerie. The orange hue was a compliment to your brown skin—a color that Kento had previously voiced loving on you—and it accentuated your curves, curves that Kento never tired of admiring and you knew would be worshipped without pause tonight.

You were more comfortable in your skin now, the faint stretch marks and roll or two were cherished tokens of motherhood and love, embodying a journey that was far deeper than aesthetic perfection. 

You would definitely have to thank Ome. Because the way he stopped speaking into the receiver of the phone when you emerged from the bathroom made you hold in a snort. He had seen you in lingerie before, but from the look on his face, you cataloged the designer in your head to buy more of their outfits later. His eyes widened fractionally, grip on the phone slackening as he took you in, unabashed in his admiration as he spoke calmly into the phone. 

“Make that two bottles of champagne actually. Just leave them at the door, no need to knock.”

You giggled as you watched him hang up the phone and slip off his shoes, eyes not once leaving the slow outline of your form before he made his way to you. 

“Is this my reward?” His fingers lightly traced the lace adorning your breasts, his touch igniting a flame in your belly that you were all too familiar with. “It’s exquisite but I’m afraid it won’t last long on you.”

“A shame,” you purred, guiding him to recline on the expansive bed with a playful nudge. He shot you a devilish smirk, and the sight made you lightheaded. His carefree demeanor was palpable, a side of him so unguarded and joyous. You wouldn’t be sleeping at all tonight.

“Try to make it last, it was expensive.”

He hummed noncommittally in response as you climb on top of him, his cock flagging instantly from the feel of you hot against him. Even through the thick fabric of his tailored pants, he throbbed hot and heavy, ready for you in almost an instant. 

A harsh slap to your ass made you jump, eliciting a whimper from your throat, your body instinctively grinding against his clothed cock in a Pavlovian response.

“I’ll buy you more,” he promised, deep brown eyes now paper-thin rings as he snapped a strap of your lingerie against your thigh, marveling at the way you twitched, his lust permeating the room. 

The champagne bottles remained forgotten at the door, warming in the night and untouched for the rest of the night.

***

It was always a far away dream.

Kuantan, Malaysia was just an island that he had always yearned to visit when he was younger. Of all the places, it was there that he saw himself the most serene and at peace. He would retire at the age of thirty-five with more than enough in his bank account to sustain him, his children, and his children’s children, bring a wife—perhaps accompanied by a child or two—to the sandy shores, and immerse himself in good food and an endless array of books he had yet to finish.

He had planned for a nice honeymoon in Okinawa with you, imagining a blissful week of sunbathing, indulging in exquisite cuisine, and having as much sex with you as both your bodies could muster.

But like the enigma you were, you had booked everything in a farce and the plane you both boarded was bound for Kuantan. Even when he tried to pry more information from you, you deftly diverted his attention, presenting him with an itinerary adorned with your infectious enthusiasm, charming away any resistance that he had.

It was always a far away dream.

But it was a reality now with you—his wife—sleeping in his arms, your legs entwined with his upon the silken sheets of a spacious king bed in a bungalow that was your abode for the next few days.

He left the windows open again, inviting the soothing symphony of waves, the distinctive aroma of salt and sand, and the hypnotic sight of the ocean’s smooth horizon. It all welcomed his senses as he pulled you closer to him. White sheer curtains billowed in the beachy breeze, and with each tuft of wind that filtered into the bungalow you both shared, it brought a level of peace that he hadn’t anticipated arriving so soon in his life. 

Your body wash was different this time—lavender, not your usual lilac—but still a compliment to your shea butter-kissed skin. Your cheek rested on his bicep, a hint of drool on his skin that he would refuse to let you in on unless he was feeling particularly teasing. Your bonnet was askew on your head, the hint of curls poking from the side by your ear. There was a fading bruise on your neck, faint and purpling from his teeth a few nights ago. You would probably glare at him for having to put concealer on it as you hated the way it stuck to your skin in the heat. 

He didn’t mind being scolded for it. Not by you, anyway.

Put a ring on Nanami Kento’s finger and whisk him away to Kuantan, Malaysia, and watch as all semblance of decorum evaporates.

“Stop staring at me,” you mumbled, half-awake yet aware of his gaze as you opened the eye not pressed to his bicep to glare impishly up at him. 

The sound of your voice made his heart jump, it always did, but recently he had felt loose and raw and open, a perfect view for you to touch the beating organ in his chest with your delicate hands. 

“You were in a deep sleep seconds ago, how did you know I was staring?” he inquired.

“Intuition—you love me too much to leave me alone even in sleep.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

As you languidly rolled onto your back, he hovered above, studying your features. The subtle impression of sleep creased your cheek, the corner of your lip was wet with drool, and your eyes squinted slightly, adjusting to the morning light. A normal sight of a sleeping woman, but to him it was the most beautiful canvas he had ever seen. Raw and unfiltered, a picture he had seen so many mornings and nights before, but still felt as if it was the very first time. Even seconds after waking up, you were the epitome of beauty.

His wife. 

You pulled off your bonnet, and the braids he had confidently mastered rested on the silk pillowcase beneath your head as you relaxed back into the sheets. Your fingertips lightly grazed his cheekbone, beckoning his attention.

“What would you like to do today?” You asked and watched with a lifted brow as he hummed and leaned to press his lips to the exposed slope of your shoulder. “Or is the agenda just us being in the bed?” 

A nip to the soft skin of your neck made you gasp, and his tongue smoothed over it to soothe the slight sting.

“Breakfast first,” he mused, a lighthearted tilt to his tone as his lips trailed hot down the column of your neck. 

Your t-shirt was pushed up in less than a second, exposing every inch of naked skin that he dutifully pressed his lips to. The saltiness of your skin was faint and when he circled a nipple and brought it to his mouth, there was a hint of strawberries that he had eaten off your body the night before. 

The gasp that left your lips was heavenly, short and clipped, always asking him for more as he licked and bit the pertness of your peaks before sliding his affection down your torso.

“Then…then let’s go eat,” you offered, even though it fell on deaf ears. You knew this. And part of you was teasing him, trying to keep up with the façade more than anything as your eyes watched him kiss a worshipping line down the planes of your stomach.

He cataloged the way your throat bobbed and the sound of a gasp catching in your throat when he finally dipped a dripping tongue over the hood of your clit. Your legs parted for him instantly, beckoning him to settle in between as you bunched your hands into the silk pillow beneath your head. 

“T-there’s a nice restaurant up the beach that you might like.” 

He laughed at your attempt to distract, low and dark in a way that made your cunt quiver in anticipation. He smiled against your already dripping cunt and slid his tongue deep within you to pull a tight moan from your lips that made him chuckle again. 

The meat of your thighs was covered by the softest skin he had ever felt, moisturized religiously and free of scars, and he dug his fingertips deep until it pillowed between his fingers and opened you more for him. 

He pulled away to press a hot kiss to your clit and reveled in the way you jumped, your stomach and chest heaving with increased breaths.

“Different kind of breakfast, my love. I thought you would have caught on.”

He was back on you before you could say anything smart, and he watched gleefully as you sunk into the silky sheets and twisted the fabric in your hands. He had memorized every inch of you, created his very own manual for how to take you apart, and used that guide dutifully with the way he licked your clit in light and solid strokes that made you wetter in the warmth of his mouth, sucking the glistening bud between his lips when he was feeling more glutinous. 

“Kento, please.”

Your call for him was a sweet melody to his ears, and he complied with your desires using two, then three fingers inside of you, pumping fluidly. He was delirious with you, foggy-headed as he reveled in the sound of your escalating cries and pleas, your body arching and yearning for more as his skilled fingers brushed that spongy spot on the roof of your walls. 

It gave him the reaction he desperately loved to see, a sharp hiccup from your lungs and a loud moan into the air before you clamped down on his fingers and gushed over the digits. Captivating, and he dipped down to taste your essence around his fingers that pumped languidly between your legs.

He could hardly calm down from his own excitement because not even a minute later you were asking for more, tugging his boxers down with your feet in practiced impatience. Soon he was naked and hovering over you, tilting full lips against yours that were still wet with your slick.

“Don’t deny your wife,” you whispered into the small space between both your lips and his as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer with a strength that always surprised him when you were horny. The tip of him leaked precum, parting your folds in a mischievous ask that made you whine when he refused to indulge you. 

“How many will you give me?” he questioned, his voice lower and seductive, as he slowly entered you, relishing in the sensation of your warmth enveloping him. The column of your neck was bare for him when you arched your back at the feeling of him inside you, delicious brown skin free of blemish but already sprinkled with a light sheen of sweat. “Hmm?”

“I don’t—” you swallowed hard against a dry throat, your fingers digging hard into the skin of his back as he started a steady pace. “I don’t know. You already made me cum once I can’t—one more.”

“One more?” he punctuated his teasing question with a rolling thrust that made your cunt squeeze him like a vice. He clenched his teeth through it and savored the burning pleasure at the base of his spine with every thrust of himself into your welcoming heat. You were wanton, uninhibited, and lost in the moment with him, digging your manicured nails into his skin and moaning harshly into the air without any care of locals outside the window who might be listening. 

He caught a flash of your ring, the diamond that he made sure was cut meticulously before a cent was handed over, and his stomach quivered as you slid your hand between your bodies to brush against your clit. But he stopped you, catching your wrist and his thrusts came to a stop, the action making you whine in frustration.

“If I only get one orgasm from you, then I’m going to make it last,” he murmured against your lips, a soft smile twitching on the edges at the sight of your pout. A gentle crease between elegant brows and subtle pursing of your lips made his heart give a warming leap in his chest. 

 “You know since you’ve gotten married, you’ve become awfully stingy,” you grumbled up at him.

A carefree chuckle vibrated from his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again, stealing the sweet flavor of strawberries from your lips. 

“I suppose I have,” he admitted playfully. “How can I make it up to you?” With a deliberate roll of his hips, the skin of his abs brushing against your clit, you dug your nails harder into his skin. “Tell me?”

He would do anything for you—set the world ablaze, give up everything, get down on his knees and ask for your hand over and over again if it meant you would smile at him for a second longer. He knew that you would never make him stoop to such levels, would never ask him something that would hurt him. But the hold you had on his mind, on his body, on his heart was so tight and gripping that if you ever let go he was sure he would fall apart. And only you knew how to seamlessly put him back together. 

“Fuck me,” you finally demanded of him, voice thick with desire and trembling with a barely suppressed whimper. And because he could never deny you, he gave to you fully. 

He worshipped every inch of the skin of your neck, drank the sweat on your collarbone, and let his tongue press against your skin to vibrate with each moan that passed from your lips. Every stroke that he gave made your eyes clench tightly from a source of pleasure that started from a simmer and roiled into a boil that seemed to radiate from your skin.

One of your braids had come loose, your curls sprawling across the silk pillowcase as the force of his thrusts get harder and faster. Traces of sleep still etched on your cheek, and your lips parted in a delicate dance with each sound that escaped them. The very mention of his name stirred a fierce primal instinct within him, something he might have felt ashamed of, if it hadn’t fueled a ferocious intensity in his movements, each driving into and fighting against the increased tightness of your cunt around him. 

“Kento,” you managed to voice, delirious with passion, your gaze heavy-lidded.

“Again,” he urged into the air that puffed from your lips. “Say it again.”

“Kento.”

He rewarded you by intensifying his pace, harsh and thorough thrusts that slapped against your clit over and over so you could moan and hiccup in his mouth.

You were wrong. Marriage hadn’t made him stingy when it came to you. 

He had always been this way. Since the moment you dropped your walls for him to come closer, he had taken every morsel of affection, desiring you solely for himself, distinctly irresistible. You were too unique to be shared with anyone else, he wouldn’t allow it. You were his to hold, his to kiss, his to love until the last breath left his lungs many, many years from now. And he hoped that if there was some form of an afterlife for him, he would find his way to you and take love from you some more.

So until that day came, he would be stingy every chance that he could get.

Your legs wrapped tighter around waist and pulled him further inside of you, and the feel of you impossibly hotter around him made the corners of his vision go white. Without a sleeping daughter down the hall, you and Kento had been going at it whenever you could and on whatever surface that was durable. He went to sleep every night spent and satiated. 

But now he was paying for it. Because the way you started to flutter around his cock made his balls draw tight and his stomach clench in a sweltering pleasure that rose to the surface of his ocean of control unexpectantly. There was an ache in his thighs, a burn in his lower belly, a trickle of sweat that he could feel slide down the crevice of his spine and he was dangerously close to losing it all.

“Say it again,” he commanded again, voice tight with restraint.

“Kento. Kento. Kento, please—I can’t.” You were taut, your voice thin with each breath and your fingers were daggers in the skin of his back. He hissed against the pain, took it for his own and harnessed it into a fuel of pleasure that made his fingers dig into the silk on each side of your head.

“Tell me what you want,” his voice saccharine against your lips, tender against the backdrop of fervent need.

“I wanna cum,” you confessed, practically pleading with the look in your eyes. “Please—” your words choked off when he reached between you both to brush his thumb against your throbbing clit. The conviction in your eyes was steely, hardened, and overwhelming as he stroked your bundle of nerves with a precision that pulled a melody of ecstasy from your lips. 

It was a means to a blissful end, and he savored every step that led to that breathtaking finish. Your furrowed eyebrows, halted breaths, quivering stomach and thighs, deepening grip on his back, and the exquisite tightening of your core all fought with the ‘fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!’ that escaped your lips before that cord in you snapped with a deep thrust of his cock. 

The scene unfolded like a masterpiece before him, a sight so mesmerizing that it became his source for the hot pleasure at the base of his spine that finally exploded an ecstatic sensation through his body, pooling along the contours of his pelvis as he spilled inside of you. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, arms tight and a groan sliding out of his lips as he rode his high and gingerly laid on top of you.

Your fingers weaved through his hair, both of you catching your breath as you gazed out the open window, admiring the rising sun and the rhythmic dance of the waves. In the distance, the call of an elusive bird echoed, one you had been eager to spot since arriving. Today might be the day you finally laid eyes on it. 

A flutter of sensation washed over you as his lips pressed a soft kiss to the skin of your stomach. Then, propped on an elbow, he rested his chin in his palm, watching you with a newfound attentiveness. You met his gaze, taking in the mahogany depths of his eyes as they settled back from the intensity of moments ago. You took in the hair along his hairline that was dark with sweat. That tired disposition he always held was no longer there, the faint lines beneath his eyes gone. It occurred to you in that moment that it had been an eternity since he looked tired, and you couldn’t help but wonder if the joy that both you and Ulani had brought into his life had fulfilled a long-sought purpose. You hoped so.

“Does it bother you that we chose not to do vows?” he asked unexpectantly.

Shaking your head, you replied,  “Both of us have always been a little shy when expressing our love around others anyway. And I know that you will only show your vulnerability to so few, so it seemed like a great compromise for both of us. Besides, I don’t need to hear out loud what you will do for me. I know what you will do for me. You do it every day.”

He responded with a noncommittal hum, fingers twirling a lock of your hair. His contemplative silence allowed you to savor his relaxed yet serious demeanor. He was a stoic man, but he was your stoic man who smiled only at you, teased and played freely when you were near, showed his teeth when something was particularly funny, and snored every single night.

“I’m glad you came to the summit that week,” he finally spoke, and even though his eyes were still on the way his fingers twirled your curls, you kept your gaze on his. “I’m glad that it was you who took my angry words and gave them right back to me. I’m glad it was you who challenged me and made me realize that the mundanity of everyday living isn’t something that has to be adhered to…that I could chase a dream even though it terrified me.”

He threw you a lift of a dark blonde brow, enticing in his own way even though you could see traces of anxiety along the features on his face.

“I’m glad that even though we both were so annoyed with each other, we still shared that night together. I’m glad that I was smart enough to fight for you even though I had hurt you so much. I’m glad that you were forgiving enough to let me in. I’m glad that you allowed me to see a side of you that others haven’t. You’ve shown me how wonderful of a woman you are, and I could never fathom being with anyone else.” 

A finger caressed the skin of your bottom lip, outlining the plumpness of your flesh. 

“You’ve given me a beautiful daughter, a strength with a level of grief that I could not have handled alone, a first step with decisions in my life that I can never seem to make without you. You make me so happy. When you tease me, the way you grab your stomach when something is really funny or the fact that you will not use any hot sauce unless it’s Red Hot.” You didn’t expect to chuckle, and the sound caught you by surprise and made him smile softly before he continued. “…The way you love your family and your friends, the dedication you put into your work as a ceramic artist… it’s overwhelming how happy I am to be in your life.” 

The hand in your hair grabbed your fingers of one hand and brought them up to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the skin of your knuckles, tender and slightly chapped. Your throat was tight since he first started speaking and the stinging behind your eyes refused to go away with every blink you made. You hated how good he was at this. It made no sense to be this loving.

“You are everything to me, even when we fight and I’ve been banished to the couch, or on the days where we just can’t seem to get anything right. And I promise to love you until the very end of my days. I’ll find you in this lifetime and the next. I’ll never part from you. You have my heart, my body, my mind, and my soul. All that I am, now and forever, will always be yours.”

You didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that fell from the sides of your eyes and down your cheeks. They would just keep falling anyway. You were used to hearing such beautiful words from him, but it was his informal vow that overwhelmed you—a pledge of love that you realized was more profound than any formal promise in front of his friends and family.

And that made you cry a little harder.

His eyebrows furrowed in concern before he wiped the tears from your cheeks. “My love, what’s wrong? What did I say?”

You hiccupped, not bothering to be ashamed anymore now that you were sobbing uncontrollably. 

“We weren’t going to do vows so I didn’t even—yours sound great! Like something stitched on a pillow and I’m sure you spent weeks drafting it, damn you! I—the only thing I have to offer is an ‘I love you’. I feel stupid. Be a deadbeat for once! Stop being so fucking perfect all the time. I can’t take it.”

You could feel him stiffen above you and it gave you time to control yourself and wipe at your leaking eyes before the bed began to shake. The feeling was odd, until you realized where it was coming from. 

Kento hovered above you, laughing with a deep smile on his face. His teeth were white and straight, and you noticed one of his canines had a small chip on the side. His blonde hair cascaded over his forehead like strands of autumn wheat, and the melody of his laughter tickled your ears, an angelic sound so seldom heard—a cherished rarity, likely witnessed only by his mother when he was young. But here you were, privy to this intimate display, eliciting it from him effortlessly.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage as his lips, still trembling with laughter, grazed your nose.

“My love,” he whispered, a hint of earnest longing in his voice. “an ‘I love you’ is the only thing I will ever want to hear. As long as you allow me to love you, I will be a happy man.”

You could deal with that and although you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his infectious grin, you encircled his neck with your arms. “So…how many times a day do you expect an ‘I love you’?”

His reply came in the form of a kiss, and with it, you sensed a newfound fervor within him with the way he stiffened inside of you. 

“Once in the morning and before bed. On the days you wear your hair down. When I make the brownies you love so much. Wh—”

“That’s an awful lot and I have things to do,” you interrupted, feigning exasperation. “You don’t think that’s a little too much?”

Laughter broke free from him once more, rippling against your lips as his hands tenderly glided down your body, wrapping your legs around his waist again and drawing you closer. Faint embers of pleasure licked back to life with each press of his lips against yours and before he could ask for entrance into your mouth, he pulled away to look down at you with a knowing expression.

“You shouldn’t say things that do not make sense.”

You were caught off guard by the familiarity of his words, which sent your heart racing, pounding against your sternum as you took him in. 

The morning sun casted its golden rays upon the bed, illuminating the skin of Kento’s shoulders and torso. The serene rhythm of the waves, crashing against the rocks bordering your bungalow on the sandy beaches of Kuantan, filled the air. The burnt umber of Kento’s eyes were heavy as they studied you, observant and absorbing, calculating without meaning to. 

Vaguely you thought of Ulani and how she shared the same gaze as her father. Observing of the world around her with a bright smile like yours and curls that bounced on her shoulders when she laughed.

The gentle reminder of the very soul that brought you and Kento together made your eyes mist with tears once more before you finally opened your mouth to speak.

“Am I allowed my first one of the day?” You asked, your voice trembling with emotion, unable to mask the sentiment that swelled within you. “I love you.”

It was true every time it left your lips, and just as strong as the time before. And this time it made you pull in a deep breath so you could ground yourself without bursting into tears. The feel of his skin against yours was almost too much, you were overstimulated by the faint smell of his travel-size eucalyptus shampoo in his hair, the hint of woodsy cologne on the side of his neck, and the sight of him smiling softly down at you. You couldn’t take it.

But you need more. You would always need more until there was nothing left.

“Once more, with feeling this time,” he teased.

You gaped up at him, completely surprised by his teasing demeanor before you giggled without control and smacked his chest. “Stop teasing! I meant that.”

“I’m not convinced,” his voice danced with a sing-songy edge and you were fumbling to stay in control of the situation with just how happy and playful he was.

 “I love you,” you tried again.

“Too flat.”

“I love you,” again even though you were giggling into his cheek and biting the skin of his smile.

“Too casual, do be serious, my love.” He smacked the skin of your ass in a manner that drew a blend of shock and laughter from your lips. “Mrs. Nanami, you’ll definitely have to practice more.” The sound of your new last name was a feeling that you had only heard a few times so far, but you couldn’t see yourself getting used to it anytime soon. The smile formed of its own volition, bending the edges of your mouth.  “Whenever you want to say it, I will always listen. But in the meantime, just let me love you. If you’ll allow it.”

Even at your most vulnerable, when you had bared your soul to him, he still humbly offered you the universe, seeking affirmation to make sure it was what you wanted.

“I’ll allow it,” you whispered. 

When he closed the distance between you both to mold his lips to yours for what felt like the millionth time that morning, you pulled him to you so that he could never let go. Maybe when his hips stopped rolling against yours and maybe after another orgasm you both could finally peel yourselves out of bed and leave the bungalow. Kento had a book to catch up on and you wanted to collect some seashells for Ulani.

But for now, it was just you both and the symphony of the waves, the salty air perfuming your sanctuary as he kissed every inch of your skin, soaking your pores with adoration and love that at times was too much for you to breathe through. 

As his lips trailed the curve of your collarbone, sunlight danced on the gleaming surface of your ring tangled in his hair—a tangible symbol of your shared journey, the challenges you both faced and the resounding fact that he still chose you. And when he coaxed your attention back to him with a bite on your bottom lip and another pearly white smile, you realized that it was always going to be you.

It had to be you.

He’d be a fool to settle for anything less.

#Nanami kento #Kento nanami #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami Kento x black reader #Nanami Kento x black fem reader #nanami x you #Nanami Kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #It Had To Be You #mysteria157 #anime x black reader #Nanami Kento fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk x black reader #Nanami Kento smut #jjk au #masterlist #It Had To Be You masterlist #nanami kento fluff #jjk fluff #jjk smut #Kento Nanami x reader #Kento Nanami x black reader #Kento Nanami x y/n #Kento Nanami fanfic #Kento Nanami smut #Kento Nanami fluff #black fem reader

[mysteria157]

Chapter 1

Word Count: ~ 2.3k

CW: Mentions of pregnancy, profanity

Summary: Your life comes to a startling halt when you realize the abrasive and dismissive man you shared a passionate but drunken night with is now the father of your child.

Notes: Hello! First chapter for you all. Let me know in the comments, chat or messages on what you think. A like or reblog is great too if that’s what you want. <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

Ao3 | Next Chapter

It Had To Be You Masterlist

How?

You had taken every precaution and painstakingly logged your cycle every single day. An IUD, sex during a low fertile week, and a condom to seal the deal.

And yet.

After five tests with the same result, you held onto the denial for as long as you could. The phone call from the gynecologist to confirm that yes you are pregnant, was enough to seal the earth shattering deal.

Pregnant.

This had to be a mistake. Even with your occasional trysts and short lived relationships, you didn’t have one slip up or scare. But a drunken night five weeks ago so blurry that you could barely remember seemed to have been the final straw in your streak of good luck.

The steering wheel suddenly felt incredibly hot as you gripped the leather tighter. You pressed your forehead to wheel, squeezing your eyes tight and forcing a slow breath from your lungs. The morning sun beaming into the car window was too bright, the air conditioning blowing through the vents too cold against your skin, your thoughts too incessant, too anxious, too loud.

 It wasn’t that you were against having children. At twenty-nine years old, you were coasting steady in life. Magna Cum Laude in marketing from one of the best universities in Sendai, an internship that blossomed into a full-time job, and after years of overtime and grasping every opportunity you could, you’re now a Marketing Specialist of one of the best firms in the city. You had a sizeable income from years of working hard and saving, a small but cozy house that you fixed yourself, and the freedom to actually do the things you wanted.

But this was a big step. A step that you wanted to follow a certain way if you could help it. A serious relationship, marriage, and maybe a kid or two.

Now? When you were this close to a promotion, when your mother was finally showing a modicum of pride in you, and you had your vacation planned?

It was too much, everything was too much, too intense, too fucking loud.

The sharp vibration of your cellphone the cup holder jolted you from your thoughts and back into cold, hard reality. Work. You can deal with this later.

Omelia: I got the latte you wanted and its sitting neglected on your desk. Where are you.

You're being dramatic.

Omelia: I wont be dramatic when I say no the next time you ask me for coffee.

I just parked. I’ll be right up. Keep calm until I get there.

Omelia: 🙄 

You shook out another breath, pushing away from the steering wheel and smoothing a hand down your white button up blouse.

“You can do this. It’s going to be just fine.”

By the time the elevator dinged on the thirtieth floor of the skyrise building in the middle of downtown Sendai, your nerves weren’t as frayed. The anxiety still buzzed against your skin as you walked past various cubicles, smiling kindly to your coworkers before hitting the stretch of office doors that led to your own. There were days when you wished you were in a cubicle again. It was easier to meet others and socialize, forming a small family of the same people year after year. But the more you volunteered to stay after hours to assist for projects and the more your boss recommended you for opportunities you had only dreamed of, the less you saw your coworkers. But you tried to stay engage as much as you could, eating lunch with them, going out for dinner and drinks.

But you guess that would have to change soon.

“I used my rage to reheat it for you.”

Omelia’s low and raspy voice was a welcome distraction to the current thoughts in your head as you closed the office door behind you. Perched in an office chair across from your desk, the usual silver-eyed glower from your best friend stared holes into your skin. Even petite in nature, she was the most intimidating but also the most beautiful person you had ever met. You couldn’t be envious of her. Since meeting her in second grade, she was often chased by boys. When they pulled her thick kinky hair as a means of flirting, she responded with a punch to the gut that always ended her in the office and her mother’s usual response was to take her out for ice cream instead because she shouldn’t be punished for stopping boys using violence as a means to show affection. But as you both got older, her violence morphed into carefully calculated sarcasm capable of cutting anyone down before they could do the same to her. But you were never afraid of her mean words, because when you’re the only two black females in your second grade class, you naturally gravitated to each other. And being able to gauge her emotions behind her words always helped you understand her more.

You reached for the cup and hesitated, the anxious thoughts of the effects of caffeine and fetal development flashing through your mind before you ultimately gave up.

Her eyes narrowed, silver orbs laser focused and analyzing body language as you sipped the latte, the usual caramel flavor hitting your tongue.

“Ah yes, I can still feel the rage. Thank you.”

“It’s rare when you’re late and you usually text me if you’re gonna be.”

You shrug, setting your Michael Khors purse on your desk before sagging into the ergonomic chair.

“Forgive me for my transgressions.” She rolled her eyes at your attempt of a joke, crossing elegant skirt clad legs before sighing slowly. “I know you hate mornings Ome, but this level of disappointment is rarely directed at me. What’s wrong?”

She didn’t speak for a moment, opening her mouth and closing repeatedly, full lipgloss covered lips puckering to form words before she shook out another disappointed sigh.

“I’m sorry. Just boyfriend troubles and I’m taking it out on everyone I see. I’m so close to just dumping the fucker.”

“Then do it?”

It was no lie that Ome had more than had it with her three year on again-off again relationship. Years of short lived jobs, lack of interest in her or her family, and the latest cheating stint, she was ready to call it quits. But why she hasn’t, you’ll never know.

Maybe she doesn’t want to be alone. Having stone walls around you for most of your life will do that you imagine.

You hesitated again before taking another sip.

How much caffeine is too much? 50 mg? 200?? Your stomach lurched painfully, the sharp pang of nausea making your mouth water. You’ve been drinking three cups of coffee every day for the past five weeks.

Oh God.

“Y/n.” Ome’s voice rang in you ear, cutting through the loud echo of thoughts. Her gaze was less harsh this time, concern softening her ethereal features. “You good?”

You smiled at her, pushing the coffee away.

“I’m good.”

***

It turns out that you in fact were not good. Because every little thing seemed to send your mind into a frenzy. You spaced out at every meeting as you thought about just all you needed to prepare for.

College fund. Daycare. Medical care. Baby clothes. Furniture (baby furniture?). Telling your fucking mother.

You couldn’t eat your salad because you were curled over your phone instead, googling every ingredient to make sure nothing was toxic.

You couldn’t look your coworkers in the eye because you could feel the waves of irrationality in your mind as you imagined their disgusted filled stares as they looked at your stomach.

No matter where you went or what you did, everything seemed to set your mind off.

How much do babies even cost?

The thought made you groan softly, your stomach taking what felt like the millionth backflip of the day.

“Are you alright?”

You blinked, face heating instantly in embarrassment as you looked up at your boss. Jin Itadori’s glasses sat perched on his nose as he looked at you curiously, dark brown eyes soft but filled with concern.

“I-I’m. Yes, I’m alright. Sorry it’s been a weird day. I meant no disrespect, Itadori-san.”

He chuckled in reply, hands folding on his desk as he smiled softly at you. Jin was probably the nicest boss ever. He was always soft smiles, an even softer voice, and a demeanor that made others relax instead of stiffening in his presence. But despite his demeanor, he had revamped the entire marketing department fresh out of college, brought in triple the revenue the company had ever seen, and usurped the previous boss’ position in less than three years to become Director of Marketing Operations for the Sendai branch. He was serious about his work and refused to let anyone walk over him or his colleagues. And he was one of the few people who didn’t judge you by how you looked and instead admired your work ethic, your personality, and your goals.

So to zone out in the middle of a one on one with him was completely out of character.

“You’re not disrespecting me. You’re always so formal, please relax. I can tell you have a lot on your mind. Do you need to take a few days off?”

You shook your head. “No sir. Or at least I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”

He pursed his lips before looking down at his planner. “Well, what I was saying is that our latest project will be our heaviest yet. It’s going to take a lot of work, a lot of attention to detail and therefore collaboration with others outside of our company. The branch in Tokyo that held the annual summit a few weeks ago has reached out and would like to be included.”

Ice cold water felt like it had been doused down your back, your nerves jolting in shock. Of all the branches, why Tokyo? Niigata’s branch was good. Albeit, not as big and popular and well known as Tokyo, but still good.

“We’ve projected about a year from start to finish. I wanted to visit Tokyo next week to begin initial talks, create a plan, statements of work, you know the whole spiel. I want you there.”

The anxiety washed away for just a second, your heart pumping at yet another opportunity to get your foot in the door.

“Of course. I would be honored to be apart of this sir.”

“Yaga was especially impressed with your work ethic last month and insists on your presence.” He smiled again at you, his kindness radiating off his skin and made your shoulders relax slightly. “You’re a great person on this team and I wouldn’t have anyone else. I’ll have details to you by end of day.”

***                                              

Your happiness had slowly melted away by the time you made if back to your office and sagged into your chair.

It was a great opportunity. The assistant to the leader of a large multiple branch project? The best thing to come into your lap in a while.

You’ve worked so hard for this. Another step closer.

But the fear of your future, the anxiety of something you had no contingency plan for, the frustration and sadness of having to do this alone was just too palpable to ignore.

Meetings that you would have to reschedule because of OB appointments. Money that you would have to rearrange to plan for a life you didn’t intend to nourish this soon. Disappointment that you would have to swallow from Jin when you told him that you would have to take maternity leave and someone else would have to fill your place.

It was too much. You’re not ready. You’re not fucking ready.

The door to your office opened before you could have another thought.

“Oh my god, if he texts me again I’m going to fucking scream y/n—” Ome paused, her hand on the doorknob as she looked at you softly. “Why are you crying?”

You reached for your face quickly, fingers touching the wetness on your cheeks before you pulled them away to look at the tears on your fingertips. Ome closed the door softly and walked to you, her hand resting on the side of your neck.

“Tell me.”

You should have said something as soon as you walked in the office this morning. You could never go long without telling her your thoughts. But from the moment you hung up the phone with the gynecologist in your car until right now, you’ve been on auto pilot. So much turbulence, but on auto-pilot all the same.

Your vision blurred as you looked up at her, her face distorted through your tears.

“I’m pregnant.”

Finally saying it out loud seemed to be the final nail in the coffin as you hiccupped harshly and broke down in front of her. She knelt down immediately, pulling you into her embrace and pressing your face into her blouse as you sobbed loudly into the soft fabric.

Accidents happen and you can never truly be prepared for a pregnancy. You wouldn’t get rid of it. While you weren’t against that choice, the thought of doing so only made you feel worse. But you thought you would at least be with someone when the surprise came.

But that one drunken night five weeks ago changed everything. His glares during a night out with coworkers were dulled by the many shots of sake you took and started the course of a path you didn’t even want to imagine him being the catalyst of.

Because the first day you met him, he was quick to judge and cut you down with words that made you swear you would never foster a stupid work crush again.

Of all the men it could have been.

It had to be Nanami fucking Kento.

#Nanami kento #Kento nanami #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami Kento x black reader #Nanami Kento x black fem reader #nanami x you #Nanami Kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #It Had To Be You #mysteria157 #anime x black reader #Nanami Kento fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk x black reader #Nanami Kento smut #jjk au #masterlist #It Had To Be You masterlist

[mysteria157]

Chapter 16

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~14.1k

CW: explicit sexual content, smut, profanity, ass slapping (lol?)

Summary: The last person you ever wanted to see pries into your life. Nanami makes a life changing decision. Your hard work finally pays off.

Notes: Thank you to all who have been supportive so far. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 Almost there! Happy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

Previous Chapter | Ao3 | Next Chapter

It Had To Be You Masterlist

The sound of Ulani’s shrieks had a smile curling against your lips, your stomach fluttering with joy as you looked up at her from your hands. Your daughter wrung her hands in the air, stretching her arms toward the various works of clay drying on long shelves on the wall of Rory’s studio, bouncing excitedly in the baby carrier strapped to said owner’s front as he walked about and described each piece to her.

There was a lull between classes, a three hour break that gave you time to leave the house for air and dig your hands in something.

You brought the wooden rib to the spinning clay, the hard material pressing gently to the greyish shiny mound as you made a steady tunneling design along the side. You were initially worried about the sketches of the small collection of works you prepared to make for Choso. You thought they would be too bold for him, too typical from what he probably had already made himself. But one quick glance over them and he was approving immediately, his bored expression softening and a smile pulling along his features as he listened to you talk him through your designs.

You only had a month; one week before Christmas to deliver the completed pieces to him. Your mind was moving a mile a minute, honing in on the clay in your hands as you started a rough throw.

The loud chime from Rory’s phone pulled your gaze to him briefly before you were looking back down the spinning (soon to be vase) in your hands. You hoped Ulani would have a creative streak. To have a child that would want to sit across from you, to dig their hands into clay or in paints, it filled you with a sensation that you couldn’t quite place and—.

“Y/n.”

His normally eclectic and cheerful tone was tainted somehow, bitterness and apprehension curving against the syllables of your name as they slid from his mouth. It made you pause, pulling your hands from the clay as you looked up at him and took in his serious expression. His twists were pulled up into a bun, allowing you to see every nuance on his face; brown eyes steely and frustrated, lips flickering with the beginnings of a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your mother is here. She’s outside. She would…like to talk to you.”

You frowned immediately, the thought of her souring your mood—and the rest of your day—quickly. Your first reaction was to wash your hands, pluck Ulani from the carrier strapped to Rory’s chest, and leave through the back door. But the second reaction you had—unfortunately—, was to wait. To listen and think that maybe this time would be different.

It wasn’t different when she showed up at your door with painful accusations when she heard you were leaving Sendai. It wasn’t different when she sneered hurtful words across the table on Christmas. It wasn’t different on every birthday, or a report card with a B instead of an A, or even a present you had worked hard to get for Mother’s Day when you were ten.

It was never different.

But some part of you, deep down in a chasm that had been cobwebbed over and buried beneath the dirt in your chest had held hope that maybe this time would be different. Just once more.

“I’ll take Ulani to the back. If anything goes wrong, you come get me. Immediately. Okay?”

You stood up wordlessly, nodding curtly as you strolled to the row of basins along the studio wall to wash your hands. Rory threw the diaper and toy bag over his shoulder, cooing to your daughter to distract her as he made his way out of the large, empty room and leaving you alone.  

You definitely weren’t presentable; black overalls and a t-shirt that you usually wore when you threw clay, your curls frizzy and piled atop of your head without a care, no earrings, no—.

No.

She would take what you gave, or leave.

No more acquiescing her.

Your heart was racing frantically in your chest, painful beats pushing the blood through your veins in thick pulses. You wiped away the sweat that had prickled on the back of your neck, bit the inside of your lip until you could taste the tinge of copper on your tongue, squared your shoulders and took a long, heaving breath.

You could do this.

Or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself as her elegant form walked into the now stiff air of the studio. Her eyes were apprehensive, genetic brown hues looking anywhere but at you as she walked closer to your standing form near the basin row. Her similar curly hair was twisted and pulled back into a low bun, simple diamond earrings in her ears, and dressed in jeans and a thick sweater—a stark contrast to her usual silks and pastels.

While you were used to her exuding rudeness and arrogance, your nose flared at the heavy smell of hesitance and unease that radiated from her instead.

It felt like minutes before she spoke, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of something to say. You wouldn’t be the first to talk, you wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. Ome’s words rang in your ears like a siren.

“If your mother is ever going to come around, she is going to do all the work.”

“Throwing clay?” Her voice was practically silent when she finally spoke, her words wobbly on the ends, shaky. You didn’t respond, your hands digging into the sides of your cotton overalls as your gaze stayed locked with hers. “You look…healthy.”

“What do you want?”

You couldn’t deny the satisfaction of watching her flinch from your words. Growing up, you had been on the receiving end of it time and time again.

Her mouth opened again, silence falling from the space between parted lips, brows furrowing and face coloring in shame.

“I want to apologize.” You scoffed, the reaction immediate as you shook out a humorless laugh and folded your arms across your chest, shifting your gaze to look anywhere else as you tried to ignore the anger festering in the base of your stomach. “Please just—when I showed up at your door in Sendai and said all those things…and then when I showed up here and spoke so harshly that you ended up in the hospital—well your uncle tore me to shreds. You wouldn’t even begin to comprehend what he said and—”

“Let’s hear it.” The words fell from your lips before you could stop them, courage locking the vertebrae of your spine in place and holding you up and steady as you kept your patronizing gaze on her. “What did he say?”

Eyes that you were used to seeing filled with disdain and indifference were now colored with embarrassment and guilt.

You didn’t care.

Not today.

“He said that I am a heartless bitch who never deserved nor should have been a mother. And the fact that I would put you at risk without batting an eyelash shows that I deserve to rot in hell.”

You reminded yourself to give Rory a warm hug later.

“So what changed? You felt bad?”

“I had a small heart attack.”

You bit the side of your tongue, willing yourself to keep your appearance neutral and not convey the worry that flooded your body of its own volition. You may not care for her, but you wouldn’t wish her harm.

You weren’t that heartless…but sometimes you wished you were.

“It was minor, but it scared me. When I woke up in the hospital, I realized how alone I was. You weren’t there, Rory wasn’t calling. Not even my father called. He never cared unless it was to benefit himself. And it took me fifty five fucking years and me almost dying to realize I was just like him. He raised me to work hard and that my value only came from my accomplishments and my education, the man I married, and the health and success of my kids. I believed him and followed him just to feel something from him…and I did the same to you.”

Suddenly you hated her. You hated that all of a sudden, she was ‘seeing clearly’. All of a sudden, her trauma made so much sense to her. Now it all clicked after you had already been scarred enough.

You hated her.

You didn’t but—fuck.

“I’m trying to do better. I’ll always be working on myself. And I know you will probably never forgive me or want to speak to me again. And that’s fine. I came prepared knowing that possible outcome. But I had to do it anyway. It probably won’t make up for years of how I treated you but…I was a terrible mother…and I’m so…so sorry.”

You ignored the prickle in the back of your eyes, kept your gaze steady even though your chest was shaking with unease and something else. Something else thick and heavy and pressing against your skin, digging into your lungs and narrowing your breath.

“Everything that you have done, has always made me so proud. Proud as your mother, not because of expectations. You’re a wonderful daughter, who I am proud to call my own. I hope that one day, you’ll let me be in your life again. In your daughter’s life. On your own terms, however you want. And if you don’t, that’s okay too.”

The silence was deafening, only the faint sounds of cars fluttering outside as they drove past to cast some sort of noise between the tension of you both. This was the first time in your life that she had ever apologized to you. The first time she had ever shown a flicker of remorse and guilt. The first time you had ever watched her realize the consequences of her own actions in how she chose to raise you.

You wanted to push her away, to tell her to leave and never come back or contact you again.

But you knew—deep down you knew—that you owed it to yourself and maybe even your daughter to try.

“I should get going.”

Her soft voice pulled you from your thoughts, watching in faint fascination as she smoothed her hands down her cashmere sweater and cleared her throat to dispel the awkwardness in the air.

“I’m staying with your uncle. We’ve been trying to reconnect and well—I’ll be here for a few days.”

You ignored the small flicker of hope in your chest, because it didn’t make sense to feel this way. Your mother didn’t deserve a modicum of well wishes or happiness from you and yet the thought of her reaching out again had you fighting the small voice in your head whispering finally to the attention you always craved.

Though only a few words had left your lips, you were suddenly tired. So mentally tired.

“I’ll get out of your hair.”

She offered you a soft smile, the sight pulling at your chest and preventing you from speaking further. She hesitated for a moment longer—a hand lifting as if to reach for you—but instead she tucked it against her chest and left the room without another word.

When the door chime of the studio rung in your ears, you sagged against the basin row behind you, hands reaching back to grip the edge, fingers digging into layers of dried glaze as you squeezed tighter with each beat of your heart.

Thirty years of trauma and only looking your way unless it was for her benefit and now all of a sudden, she was remorseful. If she meant it, you really wouldn’t know unless you gave her a shot.

But right now, you couldn’t think about it.

Right now, the only thoughts on your mind were getting home to take care of Ulani and vent to Kento with free hands and an angry mouth. Kento who you, surprisingly, hadn’t heard from all day.

You faltered at sight of your phone screen, blinking against the chilly November wind as you made your way to the car. You were used to a few messages from Kento throughout the day. While he offered the minimum amount of words in meetings and conversation in his workplace to get the job done, he turned to his phone to vent on any annoyances and to ask your opinion on a certain direction projects on his roster should take. You had left that life, and though marketing no longer flowed through your veins next to caffeine and exhaustion like it used to, it felt freeing to exercise your brain again with things you once embraced so readily.

But right now, you were a little mystified as you noticed only one message from him.

Kento: Hello. I know you’re at Rory’s studio right now but I’m not home and did not want you to be alarmed. I decided to go to the bakery.

Are you still there?

Kento: I am.

Be there soon.

Your heart jumped into the narrow tunnel of your throat, pumping frantically, a loud sloshing in your ears from each beat as you raced to your car and strapped Ulani in her seat.

Since Yu’s death, he had not set foot in the bakery let alone walked along the block that the establishment was built on. Through his journey of grief, he still hadn’t talked about owning the bakery or touched the deed that Yu had given him.

Kaya had done a great job keeping up with the bakery since her husband’s death. And Yu, like the beautiful soul he was, ensured his employees would still have a career in the midst of something going wrong. A fellow bakery owner from his years in culinary school happily took the extra help and Yu’s former employees were still earning a modest living.

Even in death, his kindness would never cease.

The thick curtains only showed slivers of dim light through glass windows as you peered from inside your car. Your stomach was in knots, twisting by the second as you strapped Ulani to you again and walked inside.

The bakery wasn’t big, modest and modern with hints of eclectic and outgoing tones that exuded Yu’s personality. Walls were painted a warm brown, employee of the month pictures and certificates of achievement littered a small section—polaroid pictures of families and neighbors and friends next to them.

The front register was covered with a thin white sheet, the wood counters clean and free of dust, the long glass display case empty and dark. Large chalkboard slabs behind the register on the wall had been scrubbed clean, no longer holding any remnants of Yu’s handwriting to display what goods would be available.

Before, when the bakery was open and bustling, the spaces between cabinets and the center of the small tables inside were adorned with different houseplants that grew throughout the seasons. Long Philodendrons would hang down from the ceiling and trail on the walls like vines; waxy Hoya Carnosas would adorn the tables that Yu would rotate with Peperomias of different shades and size. You remembered the large Fiddle Leaf that would sit in the corner behind the counter, curving over a table meshed against the glass windows that would always offer a warm and cozy cover for whatever lucky person happened to snag the seat. It was his pride and joy, the only plant that responded to his touch. Haibara always loved plants.

But those plants were all gone now—the corners, walls, and tables now bare.

A small part of you hoped that Kaya took them home instead of throwing them away.

Your eyes caught Kento, his tall body leaning stiffly against a wooden counter, his glasses covered gaze directed to the blank chalkboard slabs on the wall. A crisp black long sleeved button up covered muscular arms that were crossed over his chest, dark grey slacks fitting perfectly on legs that ran miles every morning before the sun rose, black expensive Chukka boots that he embellished in occasionally, and his typical silver Cartier watch graced your eyes as you took him in. Broad shoulders rose softly as he pulled the cold air in through his nose, sharp cheekbones curving his face into a somber expression.

Something must have happened.

A thick fog of unease permeated from his presence across the tiled floor of the bakery and to both you and Ulani. The feel of it made you swallow, eyes blinking back a sudden sting as you opened your mouth to say something to him.

Your daughter beat you to it, babbling happily at the sight of her father, the noise cutting through the tension in the room like a knife and wrapping around Kento like a warm blanket. He reacted immediately, his head turning to you both and a small smile curling the ends of his mouth only fractionally as he took you in.

You watched his mouth open, lips parting and twitching before closing altogether. Apprehension colored his features, the strength he had practiced using in his head before your arrival vanishing entirely upon the sight of you.

“Rough day?”

Your voice echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and making it feel more empty than what it already was, washing over him and filling his lungs to fan flames of newfound confidence. You crossed the empty space between you both, admiring his gracefulness even in the midst of whatever inner turmoil he was going through.

Kento didn’t speak at first, his eyes flickering from yours to down at his daughter as she looked around the room.

“Before you came along, I went to Haibara for almost everything that I was frustrated about. To him, I was a grumpy old man inside of a twenty something year old body who frequently fretted about everything and everyone. But he listened to me anyway. Every day when Gojo was more insufferable than usual or when work was so grating that I felt suffocated, I rambled to him.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine you gushing like a teenager to someone,” you teased, smiling up at him as he fingered a soft lock of Ulani’s hair that poked from her beanie.

“Haibara used bribery to get me to open my mouth,” he muttered in reply, voice colored with sadness and a slight twinge of nostalgia. “This morning I already felt heavier than usual. And it just got worse as the day went along. Meetings ran annoyingly long. Our branch in Niigata is performing below benchmarks and they are pushing back on everything we suggest. To make matters worse, the lovely bento you made for me was upside down when it was time for lunch.”

 “How shameful. I worked hard on that,” you goaded, clicking your tongue in fake admonishment as you began to bounce your daughter in place. The small remark seemed to do the trick, a gentle huff leaving his chest in response.

“Normally, I turn to you when I want to voice my worries. But I knew you were busy and before I could even think about it, I was pulling out my phone, texting Yu instead and hitting send. It hit me almost immediately that he’s not here.”

He cleared his throat, cheeks ruddy with embarrassment as he spoke to you. You didn’t offer any words, reading his own cues and placing a hand on his chest, your thumb stroking the fabric slowly to encourage him.

“I brushed it off the first time. But then it happened when one of the higherups asked a question that ran a meeting 15 minutes over. And again, after I put your bento back together. Three messages still delivered but no response, and my chest felt so heavy even though I knew the reason why.”

Dark blonde eyebrows furrowed in frustration, the muscle arching angrily over the curve of his odd glasses. Kento had never believed in any sort of afterlife or spiritual presence. He was ashamed, foolish to think that a friend so precious to him who was long gone could possibly send him something back.

“And that’s why you came here? To think that you could hear him in a place where he always was?” you asked him softly, keeping his attention on you and hoping to smooth the angry crease in his brow.

“It sounds asinine, doesn’t it?”  

You shook your head in response, that same hand on his chest reaching up to stroke the soft skin of his face, thumb brushing over a sharp cheekbone. He relaxed into your touch, leaning more into your hand and siphoning the warmth that it brought.

Yu’s presence still bled through the walls of his bakery. Your eyes could see the plants and writing on the chalkboard through a thin veil of reminiscence. The equipment remained shiny from his years of care, the countertops held stains of hard work and wear and tear that seemed to season the dough he used to knead every night before leaving. The air, thick and cold, held echoes of his loud and boisterous yelling as you laughed at a joke with a hand on your once pregnant belly. Vivid memories flashed through your mind like an old reel; him blowing raspberries into the plump cheeks of his daughter’s face and whispering warm words of affection to his wife when he thought no one was listening.

Haibara was everywhere and yet nowhere.

“Did he answer you?” you asked, your own voice tight from the memories.

He chuckled softly from your question; the sound strained even though his shoulders relaxed from their once tense hold. He plucked Ulani from her carrier, kissing her cheek repeatedly until her gummy lips curled into a drool covered smile and her body hiccupped out a harsh giggle.

“He did.”

You didn’t pry further. Whatever words he had for his friend where for him and him alone. You knew he would tell you if you asked, but it felt wrong to do so. So, you simply smiled up at him instead, hoping your body language would convey just how satisfied you were with his progress.

The dim lights of the bakery glinted over his glasses, the tinted lenses offering you a flash of deep set eyes that hadn’t stopped tracing over you since you walked in.

He outlined your features; typical black cotton overalls and white shirt with flicks of dried clay that you wore when throwing, curls pulled up into a messy bun, smooth skin without blemish as you radiated love in his direction.

He had felt hollow all day, his chest carved out with the sharpest knife imaginable and exposed to the open air as frustration and sadness festered along the raw walls of the woundt. Just thinking about Haibara seemed to pull him so low that on days like these it was hard to even see the top of the hole in order to climb out of it.

But you offered that familiar smile, spoke to him with words that held thick layers of affection and comfort that seemed to make the hole in his chest a little less painful. You were a beacon to him, shining bright and unmoving even though the rocky waters of his grief had pressed against you time and time again. You would always be there to offer the answers he needed to hear, even if they stung a little more than usual.

You both freely gave and took from one another, balancing chaos and peace with a harmonious practice that should have taken years to build.

And right now, you were giving him everything he needed in that moment.

So, Kento took; leaning down to slant his lips against yours and leeching away the comfort he had been searching for all day and swallowing it for himself. When he pulled away and sighed against your cheek, placing another kiss on the skin there, his body felt a little less heavy than before.

Later that night, after you had vented your own frustrations about your mother and hours after Ulani had been tucked in bed, you carded your fingers through thick blonde locks while he lay on your sweaty chest. With your steady heartbeat against his ear, Kento pulled in a calming breath for the first time that day.

Just minutes before, his mouth had been hot on your skin, wringing every ounce of adoration from your body that you gave him when his tongue dipped between the crevices of your body and his hips rolled against yours. And now with your strength, he exhaled away his worries and sadness into the warm air of your bedroom, squeezing you closer to him so he could soak up your warmth.

“I wasn’t completely honest with you today.”

It was the first word he had spoken in a while; he was normally somewhat vocal when you both made love, but tonight he was quiet, content to relish in the moans you exhaled against his skin. You didn’t let your mind run away with irrationality and remained quiet, your fingers scratching a spot on his nape that relaxed him further against you.

“Meetings did run long, the Niigata branch is performing below benchmarks, and your bento did fall apart before I could enjoy it. But—well lately I’ve been thinking that…” he trailed off, the rumble of his voice into your skin falling into nothing as he lost the remaining words in his throat. You felt him swallow against you, felt his hands dig a little more into the flesh of your waist, felt his nose press more into the skin of your breast before he pulled in your scent with a deep and shaky breath. “These past few days, I’ve been thinking about fulfilling Yu’s portion of his will—opening the bakery.”

Soft patters of happiness fluttered against your ribcage. You twirled a thick lock between two fingers, ruminating words in your head before speaking.

“Is that what you asked him then? In the bakery? You asked if he thought you were ready?”

He was silent for only a moment before speaking against you. “Yes.”

Nimble fingers traced against you, swirling in no specific way as he fought the urge to swallow his words and turn away from you so he could disregard the conversation and never bring it up again.

He’d gotten this far; he could keep going. He owed it to himself to keep going.

“He told me to stop complaining about the meetings. The Niigata branch will fall in line eventually. Your lovely bento can easily be remade, and…and that yes, yes I’m ready.” His unease was front and center now that the words were out of his mouth, that painful feeling in his chest returning with an intense ebb that made him hold you tighter. “There are still some things that I need to figure out; my job, how I want things to be run, when it will open. But I have time. Plus, I want Ulani to be a few months older, so things are not as intense for us.”

You were elated, your lips pulling into a bright smile as you felt the soft tresses of his hair graze against your fingertips. It had taken him months to get to this moment, and to be honest, you thought it would have been much longer. He climbed over you, his blond tresses falling over his forehead to brush against your own.

“How does that sound?”

You admired him from above, reaching up to stroke his cheek, your thumb sliding along his bottom lip.

“I think that sounds great, Ken.”

That beacon of light shined up at him again, calling for him to come home in the warmth of your embrace where he could stay as long as he wanted.

For the final time that night, he took every morsel of your love, swallowed it down with another press of his lips against yours before he rolled inside of you for more.

***

Your commission for Choso in the weeks following became a real test for how you could balance motherhood. Before Ulani, you could spend hours in your studio, hunched over a pottery wheel or easel and throwing out piece after piece until your fingers ached from dryness and overuse.

But now, you had to throw clay in intervals, short ten minute increments with Ulani doing tummy time or playing with sensory toys on a thick pallet of blankets next to you. Kento offered a small reprieve during his lunch breaks by coming home to help out and soak in as much time with his daughter as he could.

You had to balance perfecting a small collection of works for Choso as well as take care of Ulani, and take care of yourself.

It was exhausting and a small reminder of what you could and couldn’t handle at least while your daughter was at this age.

But the results were worth it.

You relished in the pride of watching Choso smile deeply as he unwrapped a vase of your own design. It was almost as tall as you, but created with a soda firing technique that left the glaze a surprising but beautiful texture that would stand out in his home. Ten pieces to grace his home in whatever way he wanted were unwrapped bit by bit, his black painted fingernails tracing along the sides of each one in childlike fascination as he riffled through.

“These are beautiful. Truly.”

And while you were elated from his response, the check that he wrote held far too many zeros that had you blanching in shock and pushing the piece of paper back towards him. He resisted, black eyebrows pinching in confusion before pressing it more firmly into your hands, curling your fingers around it.

“Get used to this. People would pay so much to have something of yours. Cherish it.”

The smooth texture of the check in your hand felt almost imaginable between your fingers. “Choso, I don’t think I can—”

“I will not give you any less than that. Please don’t think I’m trying to be too generous. All of it is earned. You have such a gift.”

Those same words again echoed in your ears. Kento had uttered those same words as he looked at your work in your old studio in Sendai. Chiyo had spoken them to you as she admired the mural in Ulani’s nursery. Over and over, until it had become too loud and overwhelming that you didn’t have the justification to remain in denial any longer.

***

“You look so fucking good,” Ome squealed the minute she laid eyes on you. The entire day was spent throwing on every outfit you could find and feel comfortable in, trailing over your figure and fighting subconscious thoughts with every article of clothing you put on. Ulani, while an admirer of yourself, offered nothing but incoherent babbling that seemed to bring a small smile to your face in the midst of your inner turmoil.

It had taken you hours, but you could truly admit that you looked hot.

The one sleeve long black maxi dress hugged your body enough to show off your curves gained from motherhood without being too tight. The high slit up the side exposed the expanse of a smooth brown leg, your skin glowing in the light of your room as you turned to admire yourself. Your curls were tucked away and slicked back into a neat bun, the baby hairs of your edges smoothed down and curled against the skin of your hairline. Classic gold hoops adorned your ears and a double layer herringbone gold chain sat against the skin of your collarbone. You were fastening the ankle strap of your three inch chunky heels when Ome walked into your room.

Ome filled out her halter neck midi dress so well. Growing up, she was always a bit curvier than you were. She was never insecure with her body and she flaunted it when she could. The dress stopped right before her knees, dark chocolate skin strapped with stiletto heels and a gold ankle bracelet. Her 4c hair was styled into a neat high bun with two thick strands of her hair tightly braided to frame each side of her face in its own creation of bangs.

“You look fucking good,” you retorted playfully, smoothing invisible wrinkles from your dress before sitting down at your vanity.

“I know.”

You snorted against the firm glide of eyeliner, completing a classic cat eye on both sides before throwing her a glare through the mirror.

“You and Gojo are just alike, its uncanny. Is he your date tonight?” The teasing inflection in your tone earned you a heatless glare, beautiful silver eyes rolling dramatically at your jest.

“Fuck you.”

“So that’s a yes.”

Your eyes stayed locked with hers through the mirror as you ran a thin layer of gloss over your lips.

“I’ll have you know that this is our third date, so—”

“Three dates and still no pipe? Damn that’s crazy.”

You expected a biting remark in response, expected her to cuss over an insult that you would both laugh at. But Ome narrowed her eyes instead, pursing beautiful lips before she sauntered to where you sat.

“It’s funny…I’ve noticed a few things. You’ve got on a sexy ass dress, high heels, you have on your favorite perfume and you look unbelievably happy and comfortable.” Ome threw you a look. “Kento must be dicking. You. Down.”

You swatted at her as if she were an annoying pest even though the loud laughter shaking from your chest told her everything she needed to know.

“I heard my name.”

The man himself was suddenly leaning against the doorframe of your room, a beautiful brow lifted in question. You swallowed the groan as you soaked in his dark brown ribbed knit top that was loosely tucked into white slacks, short sleeves hugging his biceps perfectly. Your eyes traced along thick and veiny forearms as he crossed his arms over his chest, a well-cared for black Rolex winking at you from his wrist. His hair was parted and gelled in its usual style, but he had forgone the glasses, and his serious gaze was as intense as ever as he narrowed them playfully at you.

God if you didn’t have anywhere to go, you would be on your knees in a second.

“What have I done?”

You were quick, shooting Ome wide eyes, mouth loaded with an admonishing retort. “Ome don’t—”

“I was telling her how good she looked. She seems more happy than usual and she’s finally getting more comfortable with that new mommy body..so I assumed you’ve been putting her to sleep.”

Why did you even bother with her?

Kento hummed softly, pursing his lips as if in thought before chuckling softly to himself.

“Well I’m glad my efforts are paying off.”

You gawked, blushing furiously and barking an insult at Ome as she threw her head back and guffawed into the air.

***

Rory’s exhibits were usually lavish—at least lavish for a small town like Yoyogi. But this was another level entirely. Choso exuded his status in the ceramic world. Artists that you had grown up studying in your spare time and only dreamt of meeting were within walking distance. Waiters dressed in sleek black uniforms floated along marble floors with plates of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. Faint notes of classical impressionist music wafted through the air, created an atmosphere of sophistication and wealth as you took in each piece. The unease of being out of place was thick in your stomach upon your arrival, but all too quickly Kento’s presence was enough to make you forget about it all.

Because Kento, like the clingy man he was, couldn’t go five minutes without his hands on you. Familiar fingers skimmed along the slope of your exposed shoulder as you leaned over to inspect one of Choso’s monolith sculptures. A firm hand caressed the curve of your waist and the small of your back to lead you through the crowd of people when you were ready to proceed to the next pillar. Ever the soft man he was, ever the gentleman, but still always within reach.

And it was true, Kento prided himself on being a gentleman and upheld that standard every single day.

But tonight, he was slipping and since he set eyes on you in your room earlier, he was itching to get you alone.

You’d been turning heads all night and had been too happy and absorbed in your own world to notice. You smiled up at him as you explained Choso’s firing and glazing techniques. You pulled Ome and Chiyo about the room to show them your favorite pieces. The low lights against your creamy brown skin seemed to make you glow. Your perfume had his mind hazy and resisting the urge to bury his nose into your neck. With every gentle click of your heels against the floor, the black dress he had been undressing all night in his mind showed long expanses of your leg and thigh. You were the most exotic and ethereal creature in the room.

And all his.

Before you, Kento had been satisfied with his lack of jealousy. He knew his worth and what he wanted in a companion; and when the moment came, he knew that she had chosen him for a reason.

But that was before you had come storming into his life. Talented and teasing and beautiful.

So, when he caught the slimy purple eyes of a scrawny man with long blonde hair looking at your ass for a third time that night, he couldn’t deny the slight twinge of discontent that flared inside of him.

“Squeezing me a little tight there,” you spoke softly, chuckling with an uneasy gaze as Kento locked eyes with someone behind you. His hold on your hip loosened, narrow eyes blinking down in your direction before he offered a soft apology. His face was colored with a thin veil of annoyance and irritation, and while never directed at you, it was still rare to see in your presence.

“Is someone bothering you?” You made to turn around, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever seemed to put a frown on your boyfriend’s face. But instead, his hand slid against your cheek, palming the skin to stroke with his thumb and directing your gaze back to him. Expression softening but still holding a glint of anger, a small smile fell on his features.

“It’s nothing and I don’t want you thinking about anything else other than this. Choso gave you VIP tickets for his own exhibit and now you’re finally here. Enjoy it.” He ran his thumb over your eyebrows, smoothing away the sharp dip in them both to erase as much confusion from your face as possible. “As I recall, you still have five more pillars to show me.”

That did the trick. With a faux glower up at him, you laced your fingers through his and pulled him along.

Half an hour later, you were fully engrossed in a conversation with Kento when you heard Choso speaking from the front of the room. You didn’t pay too much attention, your mind elsewhere as he thanked everyone for coming, spoke about the inspiration behind this year’s collection, and listed those who had offered their unwavering support.

“This year, I wanted to add something new to my collection. An artist that I collaborated with that I hope you all will enjoy.”

The pillar next to him was covered in a black sheet. Throughout the night, your eyes had lingered on what it could have been, but you didn’t give it much thought. Choso lifted the sheet, unsheathing the contents beneath.

Kento’s hum of surprise should have been your first indication that what you were looking at wasn’t in your imagination. You blinked once, squinting and trying to recall faint memories of yourself to test your cognition and ensure you were in your right mind. The pieces looked familiar. Vaguely you remembered sketching, throwing and glazing them yourself.

But that couldn’t be. You had packed them up and given them to Choso just a week prior.

Your ears felt like cotton had been rammed inside, the faint words from Choso’s mouth and mutters from the crowd around you muffled and stuffy.

“It’s hard to find artists who understand your passion. Even harder to find those who have said passion and can convey beautiful things with nothing at all. These pieces belong to a friend that I’ve only recently made. They are not for sale, so don’t ask or berate her. But I owe these all to F/n, l/n.”

The bottom of your heels felt rooted to the spot, sinking into the marble floor as Choso’s gaze locked with yours, and the people around you turned to follow suit. He hadn’t called you. That wasn’t your work on the shiny black stone pillar. Surely you were dreaming. You were dreaming that the eyes directed at you and the soft applause garnered your way was a small snippet of something you would remember when you woke up.

Kento’s hands gently cradled your upper arms, rubbing and ushering you forward with a slight chuckle behind you. You were on autopilot as you took timid steps to stand next to Choso, beads of sweat cold on the back of your neck once with the sudden and dreadful realization that you were now the center of attention. You didn’t know what to say, your mind was still trying to keep up, heart beating hard against your ribcage, mouth dry and sticky.

You bowed softly, muttering an embarrassed and soft thank you before the room broke into applause again. Your eyes traced over your pieces as they lay in front of you, shiny and brand new and reflecting just how hard you had worked.

“I’m sorry to have put you on the spot,” Choso admitted, his voice tunneling through the dying sounds of ringing in your ears as you blinked back into the present. “I honestly didn’t plan to make a collaboration. But the minute Yuji showed me your page, I had to. I also knew that if I told you my plan, you might have created something with the goal of impressing, not being genuine.” Deep purple eyes flickered up to Kento who stood silently beside you. “I’m afraid I’ve broken her.”

You couldn’t help the chuckle that rattled from the tight confines of your chest, shaking you firmly and making you aware of the crowd that had dispersed and the lingering people who eyed your work from afar.

The path to get to this exact moment had suddenly been carved up, rooted from its spot in firm soil that you had patted down yourself and paved over with material you weren’t familiar with.

Build a small following, take on commissions until you gained your confidence, and then just hope that you would have a lucky break one day.

Clean cut and simple, even if a little modest compared to your intense disposition for hard work.

But Choso had given the order to carve up that path, pulled you to the side with a vague distraction of a commission that you thought would sit privately in his house, and then placed you back on shiny floors and only a few steps from your goal.

“Excuse me?”

The voice, deep and feminine, pulled you once again from your anxious thoughts. And when you saw her, your heart gave what felt like the millionth lurch of the night. You had studied her work alongside Choso’s and so many prolific artists in your intense years of college, had tried to make your own sketches from the sight of her pictures that she posted online, had admired her from afar all night and been too shy to introduce yourself. Yuki Tsukumo, a decade older than you with twice as much experience and classical training, stood in front of you with flowing blonde hair and a red dress that clung to a strong and lean figure.

“I hate to interrupt, but I wanted to snag you before others did. I’d love to know your process.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again, neurons in your brain misfiring and the command to speak lost in the midst.

Thumbs from Kento’s hands still on your shoulders stroked against your skin, spreading warmth with each pass.

“My love, your mouth is open, but no words are coming out.”

“R-right!” you squeaked, blushing furiously and pushing through the thick bushels of embarrassment in your chest, grabbing the small nestle of courage inside before you opened your mouth to speak.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered to Choso an hour later, your voice thick and heavy with overwhelming emotion.

The exhibit was still in full swing, but you’d finally been given a small morsel of time by yourself. Sweaty hands clutched a stack of business cards; Yuki Tsukumo at the top, four more famous artists beneath, and a plethora of attendees at the bottom. All with their contact information, all pressed delicately into your hands with the wish for you to contact them and set up time for a commission. All curious to know more about you, marveling at your process and inspiration, fascinated by you.

The confusion of it all had passed by the time Yuki gave you a warm hug with a promise to get lunch with you the next time she was in town. Such a trivial thing to say from someone so revered in the world that you were barely dipping your toes in.

Pale hands covered yours, the fresh black polish of Choso’s fingernails shining up at you against the dim lights in the room. He squeezed, pulsing warmth into sweaty and tingly fingers.

“Surely, you wanted to get this far?” You swallowed, your throat contracting around a painful ball of emotion in your throat that was threatening to crawl up and out of your mouth. “Everyone in this room; Yuki, the other ceramic artists who I invited, even your uncle, are all people who have worked hard to get here. I don’t entertain myself with those who boost the confidence of others of the same status, just for glorification. You are unique and I want to keep you in my little circle of unique people for as long as I can, so you come out into our world still holding pieces of yourself. There’s no need to be shy. I’m sure you have work in your own studio that you probably never thought would see the light of day. And yet here you are.”

Echoes of none too distant memories were suddenly flashing in your mind; Kento guiding you along Rory’s exhibit just months prior, listening to you gush about your uncle’s work and brushing away all attempts of Kento boosting confidence in yourself.

“Where do you think you get the trait from? You have work in your studio that could be sitting right on these pillars tonight.”

“I will say it until you begin to realize and then continue to do so; you have a gift.”

Emotion that was once bubbling in your belly, surged up into your chest, pressing against the bone of your sternum until it began to splinter, seeping through the cracks and trailing hot overwhelming waves of pride through your veins. The force of it made you pull in a deep inhale, eyes blinking rapidly to oust the faint traces of tears along your lashes.

“Thank you,” your voice was a little stronger, but you couldn’t trust yourself to say much more without bursting into tears.

So, you didn’t.

And Choso, who could see the rising flood of emotion in your eyes, brought still clasped hands to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. His tired eyes caught Yuki far behind you, shyly admiring her form while she talked to Rory, mustering courage he had cultivated for years in her presence but never opening his mouth enough to use it. He excused himself and meandered timidly in her direction.

The hum of everyone around you settled your nerves and you used the lull in privacy to take deep-seated breaths into your lungs to shackle yourself into the present. And when you finally turned around to face out into the crowd, you fell short when a man blocked your way.

There wasn’t much to him; average height but still a little taller than you, long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail on the left side of his head, deep purple eyes that looked a little more unnerving than sincere.

He was kind with a gentle disposition despite the three faint markings beneath each eye. And as he fumbled over compliments of your work and explained how much he wished he had enough time in his busy schedule to frequent galleries, your eyes flickered past him in search of Kento so you could make your way over when this conversation was done.

Said man was already on his way, pushing down waves of indignation as the man rested a hand on your shoulder. He told himself to be calm, to focus his attention on his mother as she asked about Ulani and work, to reason that you knew exactly what you were doing.

He didn’t doubt you—would never doubt you. You didn’t need anyone to speak for you.

But the man in front of you had leered at you one too many times when you weren’t looking, had slithered his eyes over Kento’s own hand that caressed your waist. He felt unhinged responding to the frustration in his chest and hated how freely he rode with the primal urge in his veins to make sure everyone in this room knew you were his.

“There you are, love.” Kento was suddenly by your side, interrupting the man—who he found out was named Haruta Shigemo—and wrapping a muscular arm around your waist. Shigemo’s purple pupils flickered down at your waist, taking in the way Kento’s hand lay against your curves in loud but also silent exclamation that this was a battle Kento would always win unless you cast him out.

In only a few short seconds, you had taken in all you needed from their silent but heated battle with each other. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and made your way past Shigemo, muttering how nice it was to meet him before wading into the crowd toward your family and friends.

Rory had to practically shove you inside of the car when it was time to leave.

“You both are either working or taking care of your daughter, have a night to yourselves. I’ve taken care of you plenty of times when you were a baby, I can do the same for Ulani. Have a nice night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

He kissed your cheek goodnight before you could protest any further and Ome was already leaning down to speak to you through the open window, blocking you from trying to escape.

“I’m so proud of you,” Ome whispered, raspy voice low and airy, admiring you with years of affection that only you would ever receive. “And I love you.”

“Love you too, Ome.”

“You deserve to be celebrated.” The gentle moment didn’t last for long, with a heavy clearing of her throat, she threw an elegantly arched brow in your direction. You could taste the beginnings of an inappropriate remark, loaded in her mouth with a stench that you could smell a mile away. “So, remember, whatever you can’t fit into your mouth, use your hand. Twist the wrist as you come up and—”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you hissed playfully, swatting at her through the open window.

***

The cityscape was breathtaking, with the moon shining through high clouds and a sprinkle of snow beginning to fall, all of Nakameguro had been cast into silence as it settled in for the night. Distant notes of one of Kento’s records floated about his living room, sliding against the books on his overcrowded bookshelf, dancing over the vacant and plush long sofa you used to sink into, and then over to you, wrapping around your body like the warmest blanket you could ever imagine.

You pulled in a long breath, the warm air drifting down your throat and into your lungs, expanding your chest with fluttering sensations of happiness. You were happy. So truly happy and proud of how far you’d come from your own hard work and the people who had walked into your life.

“Ulani is perfectly fine,” Kento called from the hallway, his low and always commanding voice growing closer as he made his way across the room. “Megumi says that she was amazing with him and Rory is already reading her a book before he gets her ready for bed.”

“Megumi would be the type to prefer babysitting over socializing.”

“Gojo practically raised him. Came into his life our senior year of high school. He’s the complete antithesis of Gojo. Thank god.”

You snorted, elbowing his arm when he slunk up next to you. “You should have let me speak to her.”

Kento rolled his eyes dramatically. “Darling, she has no idea what a phone is or how it works. Hearing your voice but not seeing you would only have made her cry.”

“Will you humor me for once!” You giggled up at him, smacking him on the bicep again and ignoring the way your fingers carded around muscle. “Besides, I’m a little upset with you anyway.”

You weren’t, but it was funny to see dark blonde eyebrows furrow mildly even though brown eyes flashed back at you with equal mirth.

“And what have I done to upset you?” Long fingers pressed against your necklace to smooth out the kinks, calloused fingertips dragging goosebumps along your skin.

“I saw the way you looked at Shigemo.”

“So he has a name,” he muttered, eyes focused on the movement of his fingers, ignoring the tumultuous waves of insecurity in his chest as you chuckled weakly up at him.

“My, my. Nanami Kento, Director of Strategic Partnerships, are you jealous—”

“No,” he interrupted, deep and low timbre of a voice firm and resolute. Stoic mahogany eyes commanded your attention, holding you tight with invisible hands on your hips. “I’m not a jealous man. But I am protective, especially of you.”

You couldn’t help the severity of your eyes rolling from his response.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Ken. I can take care of myself. Which, yes, I know that you understand that. But he was only being nice—”

“Nice or not,” cutting you off, voice suddenly icy and face flaring with a hint of anger before it washed away. “He did nothing but leer at you all night. Every time I saw him, his eyes couldn’t help but stare right at your ass or the way I held you. I was being protective because he made me uneasy. I should have told you when I first saw but I didn’t want to distract you from your night. I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to upset you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pulling your gaze from him as you let his words sink into your skin. The furrow between his brows deepened, skin wrinkling with frustration in himself as the silence stretched further. He couldn’t look at you; being caught was embarrassing enough. So he kept his gaze on the faint shine of your necklace instead, dragging a fingertip along the unique surface.

“How can I make it up to you?” he asked, tone somber and shy.

For once when it came to sex, you could make him fluster. You could make him blush like a schoolboy and fumble over his words. You both were always in control when fucking; giving and taking every time. But he always held a sway over you that could make you relax into his words and embrace.

So you were going to enjoy this.

“I’m not so sure, Kento,” you began, jutting your chin up at him, radiating defiance as much as you could. Umber irises snapped up from your necklace, smoldering in their heated gaze as he began to taste the shift in the air. “First Pia and now this? Your offenses are stacking up. You’ll need to really show me how sorry you are.”

You should have planned this better, should have thought of your comebacks a little more thoroughly in your head before the words left your mouth. Because with just one step in your direction even though you both were already so close, your chest was constricting like a vice as you held your breath and staggered slowly back.

Cold glass against the exposed parts of your back made you gasp, the icy touch bringing a tingly rise of goosebumps up your spine. He towered over you, casting a tight cocoon of his rich cologne that was thickening from the growing heat between you both. Kento reached for you, sliding a large palm up the side of your body, dipping and rising with the map of your curves, the side of your breast, over the exposed skin of your clavicle and then to rest on the side of your neck. A rough thumb ran along the plushness of your bottom lip and then he was looking at you again, gentle affection now slowly brewing into something else.

“May I?” he asked, darting his eyes down at your lips to ask for permission.

“I…I suppose you can,” you whispered, voice small and shy. His hold on the side of your neck slid around to your nape, tightening slightly before pulling your head back to look up at him.

He didn’t speak, his presence all over you, suffocating you slowly, pulling you under a rush of waves that you knew you wouldn’t rise from for a very long time. Mingled breath of champagne from him and peppermint from your lip gloss danced between your lips, cold and electrifying as he exhaled softly into you and molded himself to you, brushing a thick tongue along your bottom lip before you granted him access. He used his hold on your neck to angle you up more toward him, opening yourself up more so that he could take and show just how much he was willing to give back. Another hand against the dip in your waist gripped firmly with a scalding touch that began to burn through the fabric of your dress.

That defiance you had culminated in only a short time as means of a joke evaporated the moment his lips pressed against yours. Because now you were falling, sighing softly into the air from the wet brush of his lips against the side of your neck and then down. Down and along the skin of your collarbone, over the tops of your breasts before he returned back to your lips, stealing what little remained in your lungs. Heavy breathing against your own, his clothed chest brushed against you as he pecked your lips once, and then again before slowly descending down to rest on his knees in front of you.

The sight of him below you, ready to worship had your heart racing, going a mile a minute in your chest and then stuttering when you felt a hot hand on the skin of your leg. He trailed it upwards, mapping out the saphenous veins just underneath your skin and brushing the high slit of your dress out of his way. A subtle squeeze on your knee and an even firmer grip into the fat of your thigh before he was throwing the exposed leg over his shoulder, opening you up to him. Your cunt fluttered beneath black panties from Kento’s transfixed gaze, blown out pupils burning through the thin layer of insecurity over you.

He pressed a soft kiss to your panty covered clit, dragged his thick tongue along the cloth, the touch electrifying enough to pull a yelp of surprise from your lips and smack hands against the cold glass pressing into your back. You felt the air of the room hit your core again, sharper this time from Kento’s act of pulling your panties to the side.

“Look at you baby, you’re dripping. You’re so wet, darling. So, so wet for me.” 

Without his eyes on you, it gave you time to compose yourself through the storm of lust that had taken root inside of you. But it didn’t last long; with a firm squeeze to your thigh again, he silently commanded you. And like so many times before when you were incoherent from the touch of him, you obeyed and looked down, eyes locked with his as he licked along the slit of your pussy from entrance to clit.

The moan that left your lips was louder than you intended, eyes shutting tight instantly as pleasure shot up from the base of your spine and grasped at the back of your neck. Kento ate you out like a man starved, long and thick tongue swirling around your clit in a gentle touch before plunging between your folds to dip inside of you. You let the whine in the back of your throat free, combing a hand through thick blonde strands and tightening hard in a silent demand for more.

One finger slid into you, wet from your slick and pumping languidly with the ebb and flow of your moans; then two, then three. You loved the stretch, hated waiting so long for that final finger so they could curl against the spot inside of you that had both hands now knuckle tight in his hair. His thick tongue flicked against your clit, pulling it into his mouth before sucking hard, fingers scissoring and curling inside of you with a practiced touch that made you arch against the glass and drag your head along the surface.

He brushed against that spot in you once, and then again, and again with eyes never leaving the reactions of your body; your stomach clenching as you felt your walls squeeze his fingers, your arms beginning to shake as the familiar heat of an orgasm rose from the base of your spine. You shook out another moan, willpower to control your volume slipping entirely. You whined, higher and higher, the pleasure crawling up your skin, leaving hot searing promises of euphoria in its wake.

And with a sharp curl of his fingers and another firm suck of his mouth on your clit, your orgasm pulled from behind your belly button; your muscles pulling tight and voice shaking from your throat as you moaned his name harsh and loud into the air.

With languid licks and fingers slowing in their intensity, he worked you down from your high with the gentle caress you knew and loved. When you mustered up enough breath to swallow without struggle and finally look down at him, it was no surprise of the hunger that shot back your way. You moaned from the feel of his fingers sliding out of you and flinched when he pressed another soft kiss to your puffy pussy before he stood to tower over you again.

Your eyes stayed locked on his as you grabbed his hand, bringing slick covered fingers to your own mouth and remaining deadlocked with your gaze as you swirled your tongue around the digits and sucked his fingers clean. His exhale from the action was burning against you, long and deep with a hiss in the back of his throat as he watched the pink of your tongue dip between his fingers.

You smiled softly—teasingly as always—against his hand.

“Take me to bed.”

And that’s how you found yourself only seconds later, standing in front of his large and wide bed and shuddering from his touch as he pulled the zipper of your dress down and moved you to sit on the bed. You made to reach for your heels, completely forgotten since walking into his apartment when—

“Keep them on,” he rumbled at you, eyes caressing every inch of exposed skin as you shrugged off your bra and slid back until your head was resting on plush pillows. With hands unbuttoning his shirt, he whispered softly across the room. “You know what to do. Spread those legs for me, baby.”

Digging your teeth into you bottom lip, you followed his command, spreading your legs and digging your heels into his sheets, opening yourself up for him and pushing your panties to the side before he could ask. That familiar flare of impatience you often felt during sex licked up your chest, taking over your body so that you could reach down and begin to rub circles on your clit.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” you whined, holding in a chuckle as he fumbled with the belt and zipper of his hands and yanked them down with his boxers. In all his nakedness with corded muscle and a thin downy trail that led to a familiar thick cock hanging between his legs, you felt your pussy flutter from the sight of him, still circling your clit languidly as he crawled on the bed towards you.

“Fuck me, Ken.”

He hissed out a sharp curse, trailing wet lips up the skin of your thighs, up the twitching muscles of your stomach, a hot swipe of his tongue along the underside of your breasts before circling a nipple into his waiting mouth. The muscle, thick and wet pressed and flicked against you, a hand coming to knead and pinch your other breast to make sure nothing is without his touch. You arched against him, sighed softly into his caress, bucked your hips with every flick of his tongue against your nipple. When he alternated with an even more gentle touch, you whined for him, beckoning him to give you the throbbing cock that hung between his legs, desperate in your pleasure.

He responded to your call like always, angling muscular hips toward you. The first touch of him against you was always jarring, and you jumped for a second before he smoothed away your nerves with a velvety kiss and a hand on your hip before pushing into you slowly. The hand not on your hip reached up to cradle the side of your neck, a thumb stroking your cheek again to keep himself in check and blink through the nasty thoughts in his head as you clenched and squeezed around him. No matter how many times you had both done this, the feel of you around him had his mind scrambling for purchase in sanity.

You dug manicured fingernails into his back, whimpering in impatience and titling your hips so that he could slide further into you. The rock of his hips was sinful, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head as he began to pick up his pace minutes later. He was so hot against you, so overwhelming and all-encompassing and here, here right now inside of you, giving you everything without having to say a word.

He knew every inch of you, every crevice, every scar, every mole and dusting of hair. But every single time you were beneath him, the beauty of you had his chest drawing tight, painful and squeezing, mind overwhelmed with the thought that this was real. From the sound of you panting and moaning into the air between you both, the feel of your fingernails digging into his back, the sight of the frizz of your hair that was still in a bun and the sheen of sweat that was beginning to form along the skin of your neck and between your breasts that bounced with each pump of him inside of you…you were—

“Beautiful,” he whispered, tilting your hips and angling his thrusts in a way that had you moaning sharply and arching into him. Your back curved up into him, panting harshly in disbelief and shuddering as he found the one spot you needed to take you to a blissful finish.

“Ken—,” you hiccupped, trying to seek purchase on his sweaty back, fingers slipping as he pulled away to sit up on his knees. Large hands on your hips pulled you softly towards him before hooking behind your knees and pushing them towards your chest. You were open, sweaty and gushing your slick around his cock, cheeks hot with embarrassment at being so exposed but mind hazy and numb with pleasure. The stroke of him in you felt more full, more splitting and he was able to curve and dip against that spongy spot with ease.

Your hands reached over your head, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his pillows to tether yourself as much as you could.

You hated how quickly you could fall apart, how quickly you could glare and challenge him but be a moaning mess only seconds later. You hated that he knew just what to do.

Fuck, you’re a terrible liar.

“You always take me so well, baby. I love looking at you like this. So fucking beautiful. The prettiest little thing I’ll ever have. That I’ll ever want.”

Burning at the base of your spine was quick to bubble to the surface, breaking past the veil from your previous orgasm and sliding over the edges of your muscles to pull them tight. Your cunt fluttered around him, spasmed with each smack of his hips against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in his large bedroom and each brush of his lower abdominals against your clit had you moaning tightly and arching your back to press your head into the pillows.

The sounds of his low groans between you, the sight of your knees pushed into your chest, folding you into a mating press as he fucked you hard and deep, your heels rocking limply with each thrust, it was hitting a spot in your mind and within your cunt that had you choking on a moan as vestiges of an orgasm fluttered to life in your lower belly.

“Fuck Kento—” you choked, words falling short from the tension in your stomach and lower back. He never needed you to say it out loud. He knew you, inside and out, with every thrust and bead of sweat and pitch in your sounds. A hand slid down the spread of a sweaty leg, trailing burning and heavy on your skin before a thumb began to rub circles on your clit. You moaned loud in response, unashamed of the volume. “Please.”

“I’ve got you, love,” he panted against you, slanting his lips against your panting ones, swallowing your moans before he pulled away and licked your bottom lip. “Cum for me. Let go and make a mess all over me.”

He applied a little more pressure to your clit, kept up the same tempo and between that and the feel of his cock hitting you in just the way you liked, you were curling your toes in your heels, arching your back and shouting into the air. Your orgasm snapped like a rubber band, sharp and slapping on the ends before falling into the hot lava in your belly. The tempo of his thrusts slowed, lips parted as he whispered soft praises of—That’s it. Such a good girl. Take everything you need— into the space between your lips.

You were floating, smiling loosely up at him and curving your neck to give him access to press hushed affection into your skin. Even though you were blissed out beyond belief, you could see the lust still in his eyes, blown out pupils straining from holding back his own orgasm.

Wordlessly, you pushed him away, sighing pleasantly as he slid out of you. Your limbs were heavy and begging you to slip beneath the covers and sleep; but instead you rolled onto your hands and knees, arching until your chest pressed into the sheets and smiling confidently from the sound of him behind you.

“Shit,” he hissed, praying to whomever would listen for the woman in his bed, sinful black heels, a delicious arch in her back, creamy brown legs spread, panties soaked and pushed to the side, and a wet pussy winking at him. Kento watched in disbelief as you reached between your legs to spread yourself, pulling puffy folds of your pussy apart and chuckling softly from the vacant look in his eyes.

“You’re supposed to be showing me how sorry you are,” you muttered, eyes hooded as you watched him grab the base of his cock to stave off coming before making his way to you; pressing a hand against the cleft of your ass while the other gathered your slick on his cock and he slid home.

Within minutes, the faint traces of overstimulation from your last orgasm had bled into reawakening embers of the one you were about to experience. Kento slid a hand along your skin, snapping the edge of your panties against your hip before carding through the thin layer of sweat in the dip of your spine. His thrusts were unchanging, never ceasing even as he dug fingers into your neat bun and pulled your curls loose. They cascaded over your shoulders and his fingers carded through the tresses and around your neck, sliding against your cheek and jaw and pulling you up onto your hands so he could turn your head to the side and look at him.

Blonde hair was messy and matted to his forehead, free from its gel and sophisticated part and falling over to graze the tops of his serious eyes.

He was so beautiful. Even panting and red faced and a crazed look in his eyes, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“The sight of that man did make me angry,” he panted calmly against your lips. “He leered and ogled at you like he wanted to do the nastiest things. And while I was protective of you, I was never jealous. I have no reason to be. Do you know why?”

You shook your head, breaths shaking out from your lungs from the force of his thrusts. Cooling lava began to heat again from the look that he gave you.

“I have no reason to be because even if you ever gave him the chance, he would have no idea what to do.” Your pussy clenched hard around him from the implication of his words and he smiled around a groan before he slid a hot tongue along the skin of your shoulder before biting into the crease of your neck. You yelped. “He doesn’t know that you like to be talked through it, probably wouldn’t even know what to say. He doesn’t know that you need three fingers to stretch you open or that you like a tongue sliding on your skin and your ass slapped when you’re getting it just the way you want.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Your hooded eyes were wide with disbelief as you panted and whimpered against his lips. Umber irises were thin rings as he spoke, his words filled with growing filth, but his expression just as calm and loving and serene.

“Shigemo can’t handle your nails down his back or the way you squeeze just right when I’m whispering in your ear. He couldn’t handle giving you the three, four, five orgasms you deserve before he’s had his fill.” He kissed you gently, a blatant contrast to the way his hips were smacking against the back of yours. “He doesn’t know any of it. He couldn’t handle any of it. But I do…and I can. Isn’t that right, baby?” You nodded furiously, blushing in every way imaginable, bashful from his words even though he was fucking you like you were being paid for it.

Unsatisfied with your lack of verbal response, he smacked your ass, the sound loud and feel stinging and surging with heat and pleasure that had you whimpering sharply against him.

“Yes! Y-yes, Ken—fuck!”

He hummed against you, kissing the skin of your shoulder in satisfaction. “Talk to me. Tell me what I can do better, baby.”

You shook your head quickly, curly tresses brushing against your cheeks and jolting from the thrusts of the man between your legs. The lava was hot again, oozing in the pit of your belly, bubbling and boiling over and fraying your nervous system to the point that your muscles were beginning to stiffen in response.

“Nothing better. It feels so good…you feel so good. Please, Kento.”

“Who’s fucking you right now?”

“You are..!” you whimpered, your thighs beginning to shake and your pussy tightening around him from his words and thrusts.

The room was filled with the sound of skin on skin, the panting from your mouths, the whimpers and moans from your throat against his groans, and the sound of the headboard slapping against his wall. Vaguely, you thought of neighbors, but then you realized he had none and you could moan wantonly for as long as you wanted in his penthouse suite in the clouds of Nakameguro.

“Who always makes you feel this good?”

“You do—fuck, Ken!”

“Why?”

“Because you want me,” you whined, eyes filling with emotional tears and pleasure and need.

A hard thrust.

“Why, y/n.”

“Because you love me.” Another hard thrust and a squeak from your lips. “And I love you.”

“That’s my girl,” he exhaled into you, satisfaction and affection bleeding from his skin and onto your back. He guided you to arch your back again, letting you relax your cheek into the pillows before he picked up the pace inside of you with a hard grip on your hips and faint praises and kisses on your skin.

You were on fire, burning from the inside out as you crept closer and closer to coming harder than you ever had before. He had never spoken to you like this, had never teetered the line between aggression and lavish affection.

It was a foreign feeling, but you loved it.

You loved the way his teeth bit into your skin, loved the way he showered you with worship in the most outlandish way, loved the way muscular hips smacked against yours and the sound of faint moans leaving his own breath as he got closer to his end. A hand in your curls and a gentle tug made him pull your head back by your hair, arching into the sheets and bringing your growing moans into the air of his room.

You prayed to the gods that this orgasm would break the record for the most powerful that you would ever feel. There was no way you wouldn’t get there. Not when he was grabbing you just right, saying the right words, fucking you so well that you were convinced the cloudiness in your vision wasn’t tears anymore.

A harsh grunt from his lips and his fingers against your clit had your body clenching further and your fingers digging into the sheets below you.

“Cum for me, baby. Give me one more. One more for me, please and I’ll give you everything.”

You didn’t need much more encouragement. From the wet movements on your clit and the thick cock making a home inside of you, that cord of pleasure broke with little force and the waves that rushed through had you choking on a wail and shuddering to a degree that had yourself concerned. Your blood was pumping in your ears, sloshing and fast and muffling the sound of him groaning against the skin of your neck as he pumped with renewed fervor inside of you.

He was close, so close and sweaty and sloppy in his movements, balls drawing tight against him and a tingling along his skin. The feel of you tight and hot and even more wet around him made his blood boil and his lower back ache.

“Give it to me, Ken,” you turned your head and whispered against his lips, sweaty and satisfied. “Tear this pussy up and fill me to the brim.”

The nastiness of your words caught him by surprise and only catapulted him to his end, his orgasm ripping from the base of his spine as he twitched and tensed and spilled inside of you with a harsh moan and deep bite to the side of your neck. The sound of him moaning harshly faded into sighs against you, his teeth in your neck pulling away with a feel of his tongue sliding over the marks. He was shaking against your back as you relaxed into the sheets, basking in the warmth from him and the growing ache in your body.

When he could feel the air in his lungs again, and when the suddenly cold air against his sweaty skin made him shiver for a different reason, he slid out of you slowly, locking away the sound of your pleasant sigh as he did so. He sagged into the sheets, planting face first before turning his head to look at you. Your own cheek was pressed into his pillows, faint hints of eucalyptus and woodsy cologne tickling your nose as you blinked blearily at him and smiled gently.

You wanted to throw a little comment his way, a joke to make the moment weird like you usually did after sex. But just like Ome had annoyingly teased earlier today, Kento had dicked you down whole heartedly and thoroughly that you rolled your eyes from the smug look on his face.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” he mumbled against you, chest rumbling along the skin of your back. You reach down into the hot water to grab the large hand once on your thigh. Pulling it out of the water with yours, watching as droplets fell off his smooth skin and back into the tub with you both, you carded your fingers through his.

“You fucked me pretty good.”

He snorted against the skin of your shoulder, watching as you wiggled your fingers between the crevices of his own.

“Don’t be crude.”

“Compared to what you were whispering in my ear as you fucked me within an inch of my life? Don’t even.” Kento chuckled, harsh and loud, rare and treasured that made you smile from the sound. “To be honest…I’m just happy. These past few weeks. Today. I’ve never felt this much pride besides when Ulani was born.”

He was quiet, not offering a response as you turned your clasped hands back and forth, watching the cords of muscle in his forearms bunch and ripple. The mouth on your shoulder puckered into a kiss.

“I’m glad you’re happy. Every last piece of happiness is what you deserve. You’ve worked hard your entire life, and now others can finally see what your family and friends see. What I see.” Your relaxed into his chest, angling your head up to look at him. Soft brown eyes looked back down at you, endless waves of love billowing from his skin to wash over you. “Do you finally see it? When I say that you have a gift?”

That wash of emotion you felt standing in front of Choso suddenly made itself known again. But it had coiled more, grew with more memories and smiles and words from everyone around you.

“All thanks to you,” you whispered up at him and was shocked from the scoff that he gave you in reply.

“The only thing I did was give you the words you needed to hear. I made that page for you, but you could have easily deactivated it. I organized a tour at Choso’s gallery, but I did nothing to inspire him to ask you for a commission or include you in his collection….I did the same for you as you did me. Turned you in the right direction and let yourself do the rest. This has all been you.”

Your eyes fluttered from the surge of tears that began to cloud your vision, pressing into him more to siphon every ounce of affection he had to spare.

“Even still,” you whispered, voice tight and strained. “I love you.”

He pressed his lips to yours in response, pulled away to kiss your cheek, the side of your neck where he had bit into you, the wet skin of your shoulder. Damp blonde strands brushed against you as he laid his cheek on your shoulder, turning his head into you to brush his nose along the column of your neck. A deep inhale from his chest, satisfied and blissfully happy, before exhaling against you and squeezing the hand that was still intwined with yours.

“I love you too.”

#Nanami kento #Kento nanami #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami Kento x black reader #Nanami Kento x black fem reader #nanami x you #Nanami Kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #It Had To Be You #mysteria157 #anime x black reader #Nanami Kento fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk x black reader #Nanami Kento smut #jjk au #masterlist #It Had To Be You masterlist #nanami kento fluff #jjk fluff #jjk smut

[mysteria157]

Chapter 8

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~6.8k

CW: Profanity, mentions of mental health (anxiety), pregnancy complications

Summary: You deal with the fallout. An unexpected visitor puts your life in jeopardy. Nanami tries to pick up the pieces.

Notes: Hi! I have a habit of writing long chapters. That’s just what works for me and helps my pacing for this story. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

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It Had To Be You Masterlist

He was livid, body seething with rage as he paced back and forth in his office.

It made sense to reduce workforce and implement layoffs, that much he had known. He also knew you were someone who would take that in stride. It was just business, this happened to corporations all the time.

He never thought you of all people would be part of those layoffs. For what reason? You were marvelous at your job.

Something had happened. The hurt in your eyes was more than enough to show that.

He had an inkling of who it could have been.

Jin Itadori would never. He was truly his son’s father, capable of running a cut-throat business but never harboring a malicious bone in his body. So it had to have been someone else on the board of higherups.

Maybe it was Gakuganji. An old man that always hung in the background during board meetings, face leathery and eyes low and set in stone as he barely communicated but executed the harshest decisions through others. Gojo despised him. Nanami always held a high regard for rules and authority but the board were filled with people that made his skin crawl.

Especially Gakuganji. It could have been him.

Or Mahito. He was new and far too young for the amount of power he had but capable of devious things that would upset you.

The thought of what could have happened, if Mahito was in the room, made his stomach churn.

You weren’t answering his calls or texts as the first hour of you walking out of his office had neared his mark.

He was familiar with your anger, knew the way your eyebrows pinched together in frustration like the back of his hand. It had only taken him that first week when he met you, but he could detect the slight agitation in your voice when it clipped the edges of your sentences. From every glare you had sent his way, every snide remark, every smirk of dominance when you had caught him on his toes, he knew you.

But the look on your face as you tried to yank his door open, eyes filled with tears, voice tight and heavy with disappointment, he felt something he was still trying to put together.

A strange sense of protection, to find whoever was responsible for making you less jovial, less determined, less willing to laugh into the air like he was used to.

Gojo had waltzed into his office only minutes after you stormed out, determined to spend the rest of his day teasing Nanami before he saw the look on his friend’s face. Nanami, while normally not a very outspoken man, had told Gojo the entire conversation, barely containing the rage in his voice.

Gojo had placated him briefly, before disappearing to find Omelia because he knew the minute she got wind of what happened, she would burn the place to the ground with everyone inside.

Still no response from you, his latest message simply left on read. It made him growl softly under his breath as he shoved his phone back into his pocket.

He was trying.

Nanami was rarely wrong, especially when it came to his work and the character of others. But he was wrong about you to a degree that made him nervous to be around you. And a little ashamed. He had belittled you to the point of despair, highlighting your weakness of wanting to prove yourself to others. If it were anyone else, they would have regarded Nanami as a stiff rod that was unwilling to bend and would simply keep their distance, never thinking more about his disagreeing nature and simply moving on to something else that didn’t involve him.

To others, his behavior may have even been a small lesson to not pry where things were doing just fine. To not rock the boat if the waters were already steady.

But not you.

He could tell there was something deeper when it came to you.

You worked hard to make yourself be seen and despite what he may have told you, your work was exemplary. And yet the very company you gave your all for had walked over you and kept you stagnant.

It was your courage, your intelligence, your ability to never stop until others saw reason, always pushing, always challenging. It was maddening to him, but he couldn’t imagine anyone else pushing back against the system and showing people like Yuji to never fall into step with others if there was no need to.

His reasoning for keeping you away had begun to crumble the minute he met you, slipping through the cracks of the wall he had pushed out to others who walked into his office with the same mentality time and time again and always having an ulterior motive.

The moment you snapped at him in his office during the summit, asserting your dominance and sneering at him, he knew that you would be in his mind forever. Pestering, pushing, worming your way into every decision he usually made in the office even when you were 4 hours away in Sendai.

But he caused you all of this pain and for what? Because he was embarrassed, and he had let his kindness with others get the better of him? Allowed just one person to take advantage and steal the hard work of the pink-haired boy that looked up to him? He couldn’t bear to see Yuji so upset again, couldn’t bear to acknowledge the guilt of letting his guard down.

He knew you were different.

Nanami rarely entertained the thoughts of others but you oozed intelligence and beauty in a way that made the entire office incline their heads towards you, always wanting to listen. Back then, he had hated so much of the situation the universe had put him in. He hated how much you challenged him, hated the way the sound of your laugh made his skin prickle when Gojo told you a harmless joke, hated the way your unusual curls escaped the frame of your professional bun when you were walking down a hall. He hated how attracted he was to you. If it were anyone else, he could have thrown an offhand comment about staying in their place and be none the wiser.

But it had to be you. It had to be someone that pulled him in and reciprocated the intense lust he had failed to keep under control with his snide remarks. It had to be you that he fell into bed with. Of all the people he had slept with, double layered with birth control and a condom, youwere the one who got the rotten luck.

It had to be you.

And he had gone too far, said something to you that he didn’t mean and felt the sting of your hand on his face before letting him know sadly that he would be a father.

Haibara had talked some sense in him, made him feel small and pathetic, and he deserved every bit of it. If his mother knew any other details, she would pull him by his ear, drag him to your doorstep and then tear through him with words that would probably make him afraid to leave his own house.

So when he finally swallowed his pride and guilt, when he finally admitted to himself that he had overstepped, he vowed to make it right with you. Especially with a baby on the way.

You were worth it. In every way, were you worth it.

He just needed you to pick up the phone.

The commotion from outside his door made him pause, one voice hushed and the other seething.

“Ome, he’s in a meeting. Come on!” Gojo sounded desperate, his voice serious for once.

“Lie to me again Gojo and I’ll really choke you out. Get out of my way you blue eyed albino fucker, I swear to god I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

She was livid. He should have known it was coming. And the minute his office door opened, and she twisted at Gojo’s hand to make him move, Nanami immediately prayed that someone above was listening.

Gojo whimpered, pulling away from her to grip his hand, his eyes pained even if they held a tinge of lust to them.

Why did he have to be such a freak?

Nanami opened his mouth to speak.

“Omelia, you don’t need to hurt him—”

She whipped her face from Gojo to glare at the source of words. Her silver eyes were shining, an odd contrast against her chocolate skin that made her seem almost alien.

“I’m sorry? I don’t recall saying you could speak.” Nanami tried to protest and her eyes flared again. “Shut. Up.” Her shoulders were moving deeply with her heavy breaths, her body radiating a protective anger that a mother would have for her child.

“I’m not going go into detail and try to placate you and ask ‘oh my what happened?’ or ‘I wonder who could have done this?’ Because none of that matters. Whether you were indirectly responsible or not, you still hold some fault. You disregarded her ideas at every opportunity and in every meeting. Did you honestly not think the higherups wouldn’t be paying attention??”

“I didn’t—”

“I said shut up!”

Her raspy voice cracked on the edges, the timbre making even Gojo widen his eyes slightly in shock.

“Y/n has worked so fucking hard. She’s spent years at this company doing what she could to make things better and she’s fucking good at it. She’s spent her entire life being told that she holds no value unless she’s the best at what she does. But she adored you, thought that if anyone could see just how hard she was working…if anyone could give her the experience she needed to make something of herself, it would be you. To her, you were the best at what you did. Asked the best questions, fostered the most intense conversations, compiled the most detailed reports. She always had a little crush on you. Clearly, I don’t see it, but go off I guess.”

She pulled in a large breath, her anger slowly receding, giving way to exhaustion.

“Gojo told me why you act the way you do. He told me about what happened to Yuji and I understand your response, truly I do. But y/n was different, and even you can’t deny that.”

Nanami swallowed, a large bulge of bile sliding back down his throat and sitting uncomfortably in his belly.

“She may not directly blame you, but she might realize that even your actions put her on the radar of the higherups. And they used her skills one last time, took what they needed, and then tossed her away. That’s going to hurt her, and she’s going to blame you and everyone for a very long time. That last time you hurt her; I gave you a chance because I knew it was the right thing to do. But not this time.”

She pointed a finger in his direction, her relaxed gaze beginning to boil over with rage again, silver eyes gleaming.

“Do you want to be in her life?”

“I do.” He answered it before she could even finish, his tone resolute and without question. She studied him sternly, picking at his skin with her gaze, tearing through the cracks and staring right into the guts. “Please understand that I do.”

“I don’t need to understand shit. She does. She has one parent in her life and that person could hardly be called a mother. I don’t want her child to only have one parent as well. That’s the only reason I’m talking to you. I’m not interfering anymore. You’re going to work for it Nanami. In every sense of the word. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care who you need to call, what you have to do or say. Grovel if you have to. Get down on your hands and knees and show her that you’re worth it. Fix. This. Now.”

Even Gojo swallowed loudly, his tall body glued in the crevices of his chair. Nanami hadn’t given away any other expression, but internally his blood was ice cold. Omelia was a force to be reckoned with.

“I will. I promise, I will.”

Omelia lowered her finger, her face still angry but her eyes seeming to accept his response.

“And if you ever. Ever. Hurt her again, there won’t be a place you’ll be able to hide. It wont take me long to find you. I’ll do whatever I can to protect her and I’ll make sure that you will have wished you never spoken to her in the first place.”

Nanami didn’t respond, his shoulders stiff, stomach coiling in unease and a slight twinge of fear through the overwhelming mass of respect that he held for the woman in front of him. You seemed to only attract people around you who radiated confidence, intelligence, and protection without even knowing it. A kind and hard working person surrounded by equally hard working people who saw your worth and personality and would do anything to keep it from being damaged.

His actions only made him feel more and more like a fool.

Omelia didn’t offer anything else, choosing instead to smooth down her grey dress before turning around and walking briskly from the room, the office door shutting closed behind her.

Everything was quiet for a few moments, Nanami still rooted to the floor, head throbbing in guilt and despair.

Gojo was still in his chair, hands on the armrests and clutching the wood before he sighed (forlornly?) and sagged into the seat.

“God she’s fucking amazing isn’t she Nanamin?”

“Get out.”

It took two weeks and hitting your 14th week to finally grow tired of Ome’s hovering. She was the best of course, in every sense of the word. But she was constantly doting; making sure you were eating, going on walks to get you out of the house, staying late with you so you wouldn’t feel so alone.

But after a while, you needed some peace and going to Yoyogi to be with Rory who was quiet and unimposing was the best choice.

It wasn’t as if you were unhappy with the attention. If anything, it made you feel warm to see messages from everyone.

Satoru Gojo: Is Ome there? Show her this meme and describe her face in detail as she reads it. Oh and yes, hello. I miss you, how is my godchild?

1 New Voicemail: Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori: Y/n! I left you a voicemail to tell you all about my day so you can rest! I miss you! Nanamin is more quiet than usual but he swears I don’t notice.

Geto Suguru: Hope you’re doing well. I mailed you some goodies that I hope you’ll like :)

Ieiri Shoko: Hi sweetie! I miss you! Nanami wont stop moping, would you like me to key his car? I need something to do.

Kento Nanami: My messages are going through so I know you have yet to block me. Please call me. 

Kento Nanami: At least make sure you’re eating enough protein. And monitor your calcium, its low in the second trimester. 

“It may be best if you just answer him, honey.”

It was the second time Rory had muttered the sentence in your ear that afternoon as he hovered over you in the studio.

“My hands are a little busy actually.”

And they were, helping a child smooth the edges of clay on her small pottery wheel. It wasn’t as fast as a more ideal piece of equipment. But it was still a wheel built for children and beginners. The girl held her wet hands beneath yours, using them as a guide to fashion what should have been a cup but may just be a bowl at this point. She had to have been no older than three, maybe even four, but her personality made her years older. Dark brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail, hazel eyes filled with wonder and curiosity, and never ending with questions.

Being in Rory’s studio took your mind off things, made you feel just a little more important to someone. You had offered to help him with a few classes just to keep your mind busy.

And if that was in the eyes of children in their beginners throwing class then you would take it. Being able to watch them use their imagination gave you a pry into their minds just a little, made you feel like you could see your own child doing the same.

“You never let me do it on my own!” She protested softly even though her eyes were focused on the clay in front of her, eyebrows pinched.

“You smushed the last one when I left you alone, Aiko. If you want this to be a cup then you should let me help you.”

She grumbled beneath her breath, a small but serious noise that made you chuckle against her back.

“At least let me control one side.”

You conceded quietly, removing one of your hands from hers and watching with a small amount of joy as she smiled.

Your phone buzzed again, pushing a grimace on your face.

“You should answer that.” Her voice was matter of fact, face still focused on your work. “Is it your boyfriend?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You guys fighting? When Mommy is mad at Daddy, he gets really sad. Uncle Ken always teases him about it.” You hummed against her, content to let her ramble as you brought a wooden rib to the side of her cup (bowl?). “Daddy always teases Uncle Ken though, he’s got a crush on someone. Wont tell me who it is but I guess she’s pretty. Uncle Ken is always talking about her, its pretty funny—”

“Aiko, please let Miss l/n rest.” The familiar voice of Yu Haibara echoed over your shoulder before he walked to sit in an empty chair across from you both. He was a familiar face the past week of bringing his daughter to lessons. He smiled up at you softly, bright eyes slightly weary from a long day of work. “I apologize. She loves her Uncle Ken far more than me. Though I cant blame her.”

“That’s not true, Daddy. I love you both. But Uncle Ken tells the best jokes.”

She pulled her hands away, letting you run a wet sponge along the sides to remoisten before moving her hands back. Your phone buzzed again and Aiko chuckled.

“Nanami usually isn’t persistent in anyone unless they are important to him.”

Your gaze darted up to his, eyes wide and surprised. He only reflected a small sense of mirth, eyes happy if a little concerned. Even though he was playing along, his gaze held a firm sense of seriousness that even his daughter couldn’t detect. You offered him a small smile to placate him before looking back down at your current task.

“You know him?”

“I do. Little over 15 years. He tells me everything, if you can believe that.”

You couldn’t.

“And I suppose you’re here to defend his honor?” You guided Aiko’s hand along the curve of the clay, smiling at her amazement as it gave under the pressure.

“Not really. He knows what he needs to do. He deserves your wrath more than anything.”

You took a slow breath, the anxiety spiking in your body, smoothing along your veins and once again wreaking havoc on your life. You were mad at everyone. Nanami, Jin, the entire company you poured your life to, your fucking self. And it was doing nothing but making you worry more, sweat randomly with the thought of ‘what do I do now?’ You felt worthless, so absolutely worthless and you knew deep down it was your upbringing.

But it didn’t make the thoughts and emotions go away.

It only made everything too intense, too stressful, too fucking loud.

You own mother had yet to know about your recent change in employment and once she found out it would probably be the only conversation you both had with each other in a while.

“Miss l/n, your hands are shaking!”

Her voice pulled you out of your thoughts and back down to your hands that were trembling minutely and cradling Aiko’s. You steadied them, offering a small smile behind her that she couldn’t see.

“He won’t tell me what’s going on, but Gojo has been heavily involved and I barely see him willingly help anyone. Nanami hardly respects him so this speaks volumes. Whatever happened…I hope you forgive him. He asked me to join him for a run this morning and I almost smacked him. He knows that I hate running so I imagine the delirium has set in.”

That pulled a chuckle from you, earning an equally charming smile from Yu as well. He was a kind man, truly incapable of any evil. And to have a child like Aiko, definitely spoke to his character.

“How have you two been friends for this long?” You came to a stop with Aiko’s creation, using a wire to cut along the bottom and slide the cup onto a slab for drying. Aiko hopped up to wash her hands, disappearing from you both.

Yu smiled, watching you idly clean.

“It’s always been hard to explain. But I think we just pushed each other growing up and once his little wall of seriousness fell around me, I saw him for who he really was. And he’s a really good man that not a lot of people deserve. A man that took his own personal ideals too far and hurt you in the process. I’m no person who will rush anyone. But…I think he’d like to talk to you if you let him. Plus I want to see him grovel, it will make great memories.”

Aiko rushed back just in time, prompting her father to pull her into his lap before he kissed her cheek.

In the back of your mind you knew Yu was right and you were talking with Rory about it on the drive home until you fell silent completely, a familiar and unwelcome car parked in your uncle’s driveway.

She never came to visit. Not even for holidays or even her brother’s birthday.

But your mother’s silver Sedan was unmistakable through the car window, her own stiff form leaning against it.

“Do you want to stay in the car?” Rory’s voice was calm even though your heart was soaring in your chest, reawakening anxiety you had been battling since you’d been laid off. You shook your head, choosing to step out with him, the cold air hitting your cheeks as your mother’s icy stare hit you both.

“What are you doing here, Naveah?”

You mother scoffed, short dark curls bouncing in the air as she glared at her brother.

“I’ve come to take my daughter home. Clearly I care more about her wellbeing than you.”

You felt you heart roll in your chest, a sense of unease brushing under your skin, an odd tightening in your lower abdomen.

“Mom, I’m fine here—”

“I heard you were fired. And I won’t let my only child be unemployed and endanger her future and embarrass herself any longer.”

The pain from her words were sharp, biting and cutting at your stomach and pulling an odd lurch of pain that made you startle slightly. Her gaze was cold, distant as always, her words only thinking of herself and coated in a thin layer of false care.

“Mom. That’s enough. I’m a grown woman, I have a baby on the way and I can make my own decisions.”

“Clearly not since you’ve managed to waste years of hard work with nothing more than a lousy severance pay and a baby from a coworker you hardly know.”

The sharp pain returned again, harder and forcing you to cradle your stomach, right beneath the small bump of what was 14 weeks of growing life. You shook out a shaky breath, Rory and your mother’s arguing falling into the background. The anxiety was incessant now, squeezing at your throat. You swallowed harshly and glared at her.

“Mom that’s enough. You need to leave. I’ll make my own decisions. Live the life I want. Do what I want to do.” You shook out another uneasy breath, Rory’s eyes filling with alarm as he studied you. “Please go.”

“And do what? Sit back and watch as the only one in this family who has shown promise will resign herself to playing with mud and paint?!” Another stab, sharp again coupled with an odd pulling sensation along what felt like your uterus making itself known even more. Your heart was racing in your chest, pumping stress and anxiety throughout your body, your neck breaking into a sweat. “Years of disappointment! For once, do something you’re good at and make it worth—”

“Stop it!” The yell was harsh and cruel as it shouted from your throat. Both of your hands cradling the small bump of your baby. Barely enough to raise skin, but enough for you to notice. “You need to—” You doubled over, wincing harshly and pulling into yourself as another sharp stab hit your stomach. Rory was by you in an instant, holding you close and asking questions you couldn’t hear through the pounding in your ears. You opened your mouth to speak again before shaking out a cry instead, the pavement touching your knees as you slouched to the ground.

“I’m right here with her Ome. Yes, she’s awake, breathing, everything I promise. By the time you get here by train she will be discharged so please stay in Sendai. I’ll keep you updated.”

The stale lights of your hospital room only made you feel like a fish out of water.

As soon as Rory cussed out his sister and threatened to call the cops so she could leave, you both made it to the hospital and he guided you inside where you were whisked away to be poked and prodded. People staring too hard at your skin, pulling at your hair as if it were an accident, disregarding your pain level because you looked different and therefore felt pain differently.

You were barely holding on, wanting so bad to go home and cry into your pillows. Rory was doing his best, practically tearing down the door from the waiting room to get back to you and not leaving your side ever since.

But there was something missing that you couldn’t quite place, and not knowing what that was only made you more uneasy.

You had denied painkillers, their treatment of you had completely evaporated your trust and made you overprotective of the baby. But the more the stress rose in you, the more you doubled over in pain, scared and edgy and desperately seeking for someone to just hold you. Rory had done it all night but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t what you wanted.

“Let me through or I’ll tear this waiting room apart.”

Just the sound of his voice had your heart fluttering to a degree you hadn’t felt in a while. All sense of commotion seemed to stop as you watched him rush into the room. His hair was down again, ungelled and loose around his eyes that were slightly heavy and dark from lack of sleep. The grey hoodie and sweatpants were hastily thrown on, just like the last time he had rushed to you.

“Hi.”

The moment the word left your lips, heavy and cracking, he was by your side immediately, sinking into a chair and pulling it close to you.

“What’s happened?” His hands were hovering, desperately wanting to touch you but afraid of crossing another line. “Tell me. Please.”

You bit your lip, trying so hard to stop the tears from building in your eyes. You wanted so bad to be in control of things. But the constant pain, the fear of not knowing what was happening to your baby, the words from your mother, it was all getting too much and too fast.

“I’m cramping really bad. My mother—well I don’t know but it won’t stop.”

Nanami eyes filled with something you couldn’t place, flickering up to your uncle.

“Have they not given her something for the pain?”

You shook out a sigh, shaking your head and pulling his attention back to you. The stinging in your eyes boiled beneath your skin, your vision blurring against your will.

“I don’t want them to touch me.” He looked confused but didn’t respond. “They keep poking and prodding, telling me that my pain shouldn’t be this high. Pulling at my hair, staring. I cant—I don’t trust them. I’m not a fucking experiment.” You couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over, your last ounce of control slowly beginning to slip from your fingers.

“My baby isn’t an—”

“Hey.” His voice was soft but firm and unrelenting as he took one of your hands in his. They were so much larger than yours but so warm, so very warm and unyielding and grounding you in a moment where you felt like you were drowning. You could feel the slight tremor in his hands from the rage, his eyes filled with a malice that scared even you. He wanted to wreak havoc, find the people responsible and strangle them with his bare hands.

“I won’t let them touch you. I’ll go call Dr. Reynolds and we will go from there okay?” You nodded frantically, uncaring of the tears now as you tried to navigate through your emotions.

Rory interjected, smoothing your curls back before smiling down at you.

“I’ll call her. Stay here with her, Nanami.”

When your uncle was out of the room and the door was closed, the only other sounds were the clock on the wall and the occasional car passing outside the window. Nanami’s hands hadn’t left yours, both clasped around your one, a thumb stroking the outside of your palm. Nanami opened his mouth to speak, full lips hesitating.

“What triggered this?”

You shrugged, taking a small sniff as the tears continued to fall. “I don’t know. My mom just…showed up at my uncle’s house and she—she said from really hurtful things and I think it was the stress. Between her…and being fired…the disappointment in myself…I don’t know. I’m not surprised this is happening to me.”

He squeezed your hand, his eyes flashing with frustration.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop saying things that do not make sense? I don’t know who your mother is as a person, but she’s made you feel like someone that is not worth anything when that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s going to take a long time for you to want to let me in. I also have no right to ask this of you but I’m begging, please let me be involved more. I can’t bear to have something like this happen again and I’m not there to help you.”

You sniffed pitifully, wiping away your messy face with your free hand before resting your cheek against your pillow, all anxiety leaving as he looked at you with a leveled gaze.

“You’re more levelheaded than Ome in this situation. The smallest hint of discrimination makes her foam at the mouth. I’m sure they would shoot her with a horse tranquillizer.”

He shook out a small puff of air, a small smile curling his lips fractionally at the joke. He hated being so helpless in this situation, hated seeing the tears on your face from fear and pain. He hated the fact that he wasn’t here to snap the necks of whoever stared too hard at you, pulled at your hair in disbelief of the natural curls, intentionally misread your pain scale from some asinine and prehistoric belief that what you felt was vastly different from others. It made him sick to his stomach. But he was here now, content to keep your hand in his and soothe you in whatever way he could. For as long as you would let him.

When Rory returned, it was with a doctor you didn’t recognize, but she held an air to her that made you feel a little better. She had worked extensively with Dr. Reynolds who had forwarded her your chart and was prepared to do whatever she could to make you at ease. You relaxed instantly, sagging into Nanami’s embrace as she administered medicine fit for your pregnancy and doing basic vitals.

“The pain is your body growing to get accustomed to the baby. You uterus is moving and the ligaments surrounding are stretching to accommodate the new addition. It’s uncomfortable, but the cramps are also exacerbated by stress. Too much of it can lead to your placenta detaching and that’s something we have to avoid.”

Nanami was silent at your side, but his presence was rock solid against you, tethering you to him to remain calm.

“I honestly recommend you rest for the next few weeks. No working, no traveling, maybe small walks here and there but I think until the slight discomfort subsides, we want to make sure you are relaxed as much as possible. However, I think tonight you need someone really watching you. I feel like you won’t listen.”

“She won’t,” Rory interjected in agreement, prompting you to glare at him. He rolled his eyes before smiling. “I need to deal with your mother tonight so—”

“I can watch her.”

The shock in your face was hard to ignore but Nanami simply looked down at you with his indifferent stare, eyes firm and leaving no room for argument.

You knew a man like Nanami had taste, but you never expected his apartment to be so nice. A penthouse suite in Nakameguro, enough bedrooms to never have to worry about space, open floor plans with stainless steel appliances, dark wood floors, and walls decorated with art and photography. Every corner held something that made it all feel cozier. His living room had the longest sofa you had ever seen decorated with neutral floor pillows and a rather large throw blanket that was calling your name. His television was large, the center glass table sleek and sharp and perched atop some faux rug that you would tease him about another time. But the most distinct characteristic of his house were the books. Along the wall of his living room was a large bookshelf that was spilling with them.

Another corner held a small bar, a decanter filled with whiskey, crystal glasses clean and upside down to avoid dust, a few shelves of expensive liquor underneath. A small table next to the bar held a well used record player, a small bookshelf next to it housing different vinyl that you would tell yourself to look at later.

You wandered to his bookshelf, running your fingers through different works that even you were shocked to see. Every genre from crime to romance to science fiction. The pages were well worn, bent at the corners and slightly used.

Your gaze slid over to his television, long and polished, a flash of DVDs peeking from underneath it in the entertainment center. They all were basic movies, something most people watch all the time, but you never would have expected Nanami of all people to have a physical copy.

Your eyes widened as they fell on a few collections.

“Jersey Shore?” You didn’t bother to hold back the incredulous tone, turning to look at him as he poured you a glass of water from his large kitchen. The room was dark but the light from his open fridge cast an odd shadow that highlighted his sharp cheekbones.

“You watched Jersey Shore??”

“I watch Jersey Shore.”

The forwardness to acknowledge such a trivial piece of information had your mouth open and gaping. He lifted an amused eyebrow at you as he walked across the room, set the glass of water on the center table and then placed his warm hands on your upper shoulders before guiding you slowly down to the couch, handling you with care as if you were glass. You rolled your eyes but didn’t tell him to stop.

“You like reality tv?”

He slid off your shoes, silently pulling your legs onto the couch and then reaching over to hand you the glass of water.

“I do. Why do you look shocked?”

“You know why I look shocked.”

You chuckled around the rim of the clear glass cup, sipping silently and letting the cold water sliding down your throat soothe your nerves. The nerves of being in such an odd situation with him; high up in Nakameguro with the father of your child in his very expensive and large apartment.

“I’m sure Jersey Shore was too much for you. There’s much better reality tv.” He lifted an eyebrow in challenge, blonde locks falling in front of his eyes and shooting you a gaze that made your skin tingle. “The Real Housewives?”

“Seen them.”

“Even Salt Lake City?”

“Definitely Salt Lake City.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from your throat, watching him with a small smile as he brought the throw blanket to you, smoothing it over your legs and casting them in soft warmth.

“What about the Kardashians?”

He hummed, narrowing his eyes to himself as he thought it over.

“Seen that as well. Even the two seasons from their new show.”

“There’s three seasons.” That seemed to catch him off guard, his brown eyes filling with curiosity as he turned his gaze to you. “You wanna watch?”

He reclined against the sofa, letting his head fall back before it lulled over to look at you. His gaze was sharp, intense eyes prying deep inside and seeing something that seemed to make him smile just a little. Such a small action, but enough to make you boil over in emotion.

“Would you like popcorn?”

You watched him silently as he worked in the kitchen, pulling out a box of already opened butter popcorn and then popping it in his microwave. He moved around with an elegance that you saw all the time at the office, eyes sharp and unrelenting and free of his glasses, hands large and fluid as he set the timer and fished for a large bowl. It felt odd, feeling the sense of normalcy wash over you as you observed across the room, suddenly imagining a little girl perched on his marble countertop, dark curls frizzy as he made her a late night snack.

It made your heart pound suddenly, lurching you out of your thoughts and choosing instead to smile at him as he sat back down next to you. He seemed to catch something in your gaze as he placed a warm hand on your blanket covered leg, rubbing softly.

“Are you okay? Comfortable?”

You could only nod in reply, blinking away the wetness in your eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, pausing only for a second.

“I know that you’re upset with what happened. You have every reason to be. But I want you to know that I’m going to fix this. I’ve done enough for the sake of my own pride and I don’t want to hurt you again. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t show you and our child that you can trust me. I don’t like that you hate me.”

You pursed your lips, running your fingers along the edge of the metal bowl filled with popcorn as you fought back yet another bought of tears. Everything felt too real all of a sudden and even though you wanted to be vulnerable, to maybe let him into your life to show him how things affected you, you were just too tired tonight.

But you could give him a small concession.

“I was mad at you. At everyone really. I don’t feel like talking about it tonight. But I…I don’t hate you Nanami.” That seemed to hold something for him as he relaxed into the sofa, resting his cheek against the cushions as he gazed at you. He would make it up to you. He would do whatever he could to prove you that he was someone worth keeping.

“Besides, I’m so curious to see who your favorite Kardashian is.”

The distraction pulled a small chuckle from him, rare and deep that made his chest shake beneath his hoodie.

“Kourtney.”

“Somehow, that makes sense.”

He shook out another laugh, the sound rumbling through the late night air.

#Nanami kento #Kento nanami #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami Kento x black reader #Nanami Kento x black fem reader #nanami x you #Nanami Kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #It Had To Be You #mysteria157 #anime x black reader #Nanami Kento fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk x black reader #Nanami Kento smut #jjk au #masterlist #It Had To Be You masterlist

[mysteria157]

Chapter 4

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~3.8k

CW: Profanity

Summary: When you think you’re a step ahead to keep Nanami out of your way, your world comes crashing down and makes it harder for you to decide to break the news.

Notes: Hi! Thank you all for taking the time to read. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary &lt;3 I hope you enjoy reading!

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It Had To Be You Masterlist

Divider: @cafekitsune

“Who’s the father?”

The question made you flinch, tears long since stopped running and your face was surely a mess. You couldn’t answer her and couldn’t look at her even though her silver eyes were tearing you down by the second.

“Y/n. Who is the father?”

You kept your watery gaze at your desk, hoping the silence would be enough for her.

She was quiet for longer than what you hoped for, making you antsy and tense until you eventually flicked your gaze up at her. Ome furrowed her eyebrows, her face etching into a look of pure confusion before falling into disbelief, the pieces clicking together.

“Nanami?! I know you’ve always had a boner for the guy, but I’m pretty sure the last time we were in Tokyo, he made every effort to piss you off and your affection pretty much fizzled out.”

You didn’t respond, choosing instead to look down at your hands that sat pathetically in your lap. You shouldn’t have felt so chastised by Ome. But she knew you inside and out; your goals, your values and your personality. So, the surprise was warranted. The small hint of disbelief made all the more sense as well.

“Was it when we went to the izakaya?” You nodded softly; eyes still turned away. “I tried to follow you but Gojo told me Nanami texted and said he took you home. I thought he apologized.”

Oh, he took you home alright. He took you to your hotel and barely made it inside before you both were pulling at each other’s clothes and falling into a drunken and sweaty heap on your bed.

The sudden heat in your cheeks pulled you back to the present, your mind racing with every intricate detail of that night before you shook away the thoughts. Now wasn’t the time.

“What happened? Did he…you know…?”

You paled and scoffed harshly.

“No. He may get on my last nerve but Nanami isn’t a monster.” 

You went into detail about that night, describing the conversation between you both before stopping when things got entirely too explicit. 

“I thought things would be a little better after that but I woke up and he was gone and I got this instead.”

You pulled out your phone, scrolling to a chat that you wished you should have deleted sooner. How Nanami managed to get your number, you’ll never know. The only ones from Tokyo who had your number were Shoko, Gojo, and Yuji. Any one of them could have slipped him the number under the guise of wanted to discuss work related matters. You slid the phone to her, your gut churning as you watched her read the message exchange.

Nanami Kento: Y/n. I apologize for leaving abruptly this morning. We were both incredibly intoxicated and made a decision that shouldn’t have occurred. I should not have kissed you. It was against my better judgement and I apologize for making you uncomfortable. Such a mistake will not happen again. 

You did not make me uncomfortable and I understand. 

Nanami Kento: Great. Have a safe flight.

“I’ll kill him.”

Ome’s words were laced with poison, permeating the air and making your skin prickle. She let the phone clunk onto your desk, pulling away from you to pace back and forth.

“He could have just told you that in person. Fucking coward, sending it through a text. I’ll beat his ass. Pull out his Scandinavian looking hair and stuff them down his throat.”

The room was thickening with tension, your nerves fraying and your head pounding, and you could feel your throat closing up, the usual anxiety placing its heavy hands on your shoulders as you let out a shaky breath.

“It was just one night. I had gotten over it really.” 

You hadn’t.

“But I have an IUD…we used a condom…I was careful, Ome.” Your words cracked at the end, tears swimming in your vision as your emotions fluttered away from you, slipping through your fingers like melted butter. “I was careful…”

She stopped pacing, sensing your unease and coming to kneel in front of you.

“I know you were, honey. But unfortunately shit happens….and the important question right now is, are you going to keep it?”

You shook out a watery sigh, brushing away fat tears as you tried desperately to get yourself under control. The thought of an abortion had crossed your mind briefly, so fleeting that you never really let the idea simmer. Of course, you wanted a little more time in life. You were already twenty-nine but even another year or two would have been great. You could earn more money, get a higher position, find someone to settle down with.

But not everything goes according to plan and maybe this was karma for always trying to be predict how your life was going to go. While you wanted a partner to be there for you…you could do this on your own. You’ve gotten this far with your own hard work and dedication, raising a baby would be more challenging but not impossible.

You had a house that could be a home for even two children—three if you wanted to push it; a nice backyard, a good neighborhood, great schools. It was doable. And you had Ome, who would be more than enough.

“I’m keeping it. I don’t need him to raise a child. But I still need to fucking tell him and I just—” You groaned softly, wiping at your face as your eyes began to sting again. “Jin wants me to come with him to Tokyo next week for a new project that I’ll have a larger role in. I can’t avoid him; he has to know. But I can’t do this by myself Ome.”

“I’ll come with you.” She was steadfast in her response, soft hands rubbing your arms. “Don’t argue with me. You and I both know Jin would let me go with you in a heartbeat. I’m not going to let you do any of this alone.”

“Stop being so nice.” You tried to tease her through your flickering voice, body beginning to shake as your throat tightened even more. You wrung your hands together, skin tingling and beginning to perspire with cold sweat. Your chest gave a painful lurch and you could practically feel your heart beating against your ribcage. “I don’t deserve it.”

She scoffed, placing a hand on your cheek before turning you to face her. Your vision was shaking and suddenly you realized your entire body was trembling with fear.

“You’re not going to the guillotine, you’re pregnant. But you’re also having an anxiety attack, so I need you to breathe.” You followed her instructions, pulling a shaky but long breath into your lungs before exhaling. Eventually the heart palpitations stopped, the trembling reduced to intermittent jolts, and your hands had cooled against your legs. “You know exactly what you deserve, and self-loathing is not it.”

She pulled you onto your feet and went about tidying up the office; she closed the blinds, shut off the computer, gathered your purse and held out your jacket for you. You wordlessly shoved your arms into the sleeves and smiled softly at her as you pulled your purse over your shoulder. You rushed into her arms, burying your face in her shoulder as she rubbed your back soothingly.

“I told you once in middle school that I would protect you, and I will continue to do so. Just me and you, buddy.”

“Thank you.”

She hummed in reply, the motion of her hand on your back relaxing you slowly.

“I haven’t kicked a man’s ass in a long time so I might be a little rusty.”

You shook a wet chuckle into her shirt.

***

Gojo Satoru: Why did I have to find out from Yaga that you’re gonna be in the office tomorrow? Do you not like me? I thought we had something going here.

I honestly wanted to surprise you. 

Gojo Satoru: Lies.

Ome is coming.

Gojo Satoru: I forgive you 😘  

You were only expected to be in Tokyo for a few days but already your phone was blowing up with messages from Yuji, Shoko, and Gojo. It brought you a small feeling of warmth to be so accepted by people who had only known you a few weeks. You had always kept to yourself growing up. The tiny group of friends that you and Ome did have moved overseas after college and while you maintained contact, it wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person. You were just naturally introverted and were content to go to work, partake in a few hobbies when you had the time, and be a homebody.

So to feel Gojo pull you into a bear hug when you walked into the office that Monday, you savored the feeling of having more people who wanted to be close.

“Where is my lover?”

You couldn’t tell if his persistence with Omelia bordered on delirium or fear of rejection.

“She’s with Yaga and Jin, and she’s definitely not your lover.” 

You could have told him that Ome had a boyfriend, but even you weren’t really sure what the status of that was anymore. She spent most of her time complaining about him but not actively trying to leave him. Even after cheating. Regardless, it wasn’t your business to tell and you wouldn’t risk Ome’s privacy and trust. But Gojo was surprisingly nice—even if a little eccentric and chaotic—so Ome couldn’t strangle your neck if you gave him a little nudge.

After all you were pregnant, she wouldn’t be able to strangle you for a least the next ten months anyway.

“Stop trying so hard with her. If there is one thing Ome hates, it’s men who act like they have it all.” He opened his mouth to protest. “Even if you do have it all Gojo, carrying on like an annoying teenager will only earn you a punch in the face from someone like her. Like most women, she naturally hates men. But unlike most women, she will get violent if you don’t calm the fuck down.”

He shuddered; bright blue eyes filled with playful desire. The action made you chuckle softly, your face curling into a grimace.

“My soulmate.”

It was during the first team meeting of the day when Jin announced the new project that would be completed by both Tokyo and Sendai branches and that you would be working as a Co-Lead. Everyone seemed excited about the prospect, especially Yuji. You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm as he asked his father questions, ignoring Megumi’s gentle but annoyed demands to stop talking.

You already knew to expect the glower from Nanami.

You did your best to ignore him, you really did. But just the quick glance in his direction and your eyes caught the subtle hint of disapproval in his eyes. Through the dark tint of his glasses you could see his brown irises oozing discontent. His words from five weeks ago echoed in your head, pounding in your ears and making you feel small and unimportant.

Your ideas were good. They were useful and everyone loved them. You were confident in your abilities.

So, you shot a sharp look back at him, challenging him silently as everyone else talked around you and fell into a lull in the background.

“Reworking a system that has been nothing but efficient makes no sense, wastes resources, and does nothing for no one.”

He was wrong. There was always room for improvement, and you could help make things so much better if he just pulled his head out of his ass and paid attention to you.

“Why do you care so much about my opinion?”

You watched him take a characteristic deep breath, his posture slouching forward slightly as he rested his chin atop one of his large hands, eyes not leaving yours. You refused to give in, narrowing your own at him stubbornly and trying your best to ignore the heat in your gut as he lifted an angry but perfect eyebrow.

No. You were in charge this time. You called the shots and you would be ready to tell him to shut up the moment he tried to voice any disagreement with you.

That night meant nothing in the grand scheme of things when you had a job to do.

Even though his mouth that was currently pressed into a firm line had also kissed, licked, and bitten almost every inch of your skin that night, it meant nothing. Even though his efficiency at the office carried quite well into the bedroom when he made you cum three times, it meant nothing. And even though the voice that normally shot down your suggestions had done nothing but encourage and groan and praise you as you begged for release, it meant fucking nothing.

But it meant something now that you were carrying a product of that night, now that you would have to tell him he was the father of your child.

If you even told him.

No, of fucking course you were going to tell him. How that was going to happen, you had no idea. But until then, you knew he would go above and beyond to keep the project from going your way.

Yaga was initially a little puzzled when you asked that approvals be routed to another director instead of Nanami. It was a ballsy move that had taken your entire stay in Tokyo to finally make the decision to speak to him.

“I mean no disrespect to Nanami-san, his work is fantastic, but I think it’s no deny that he is not the most…supportive to processes outside of scope.” Yaga had simply chuckled, his hard features relaxing slightly as he contemplated your words. “Please do not remove him from the project. I would still like him involved, but in order for this project to actually go live, we need eyes that are going to see all aspects, even if they are different.”

The minute he approved your ask and sent an IM to Nanami to see Yaga in his office, you knew it wouldn’t be long until he would be looking for you. You just needed to get to 5pm, hurry to the airport and settle for a scathing phone call in Sendai where you wouldn’t have to see Nanami’s face.

You thought you were in the clear.

You shouldn’t have been so confident in yourself.

You were furious as you stood in front of your boss and Yaga in his office. Whatever Nanami had told Yaga seemed to be enough to rescind the decision to remove him from the approval process and dissolve the co-lead position as Jin would be more than enough. Yaga had muttered something about the sensitivity of the project, the visibility of higherups that would be involved and Nanami’s ‘years of experience with an eye that can catch things most miss’.

He was still babbling on and on but frankly you didn’t really care anymore. You had been made a fool of and reduced to nothing but an associate from another branch trying and failing to make a difference.

The more crushing blow came from Jin’s lack of defense. Even with his characteristic soft eyes and gentle smile, his face clearly showed he had conceded to Yaga’s words, agreeing with him in ways you didn’t understand. He had mentored you. Shown you everything. Having you co-lead was his idea. He had insisted that the decision to dissolve the position was from the higherups and the higherups alone, Nanami had not suggested it but he definitely insinuated that they would be looking.

But even still…

The sharp pang of betrayal was heavy in your chest, turning painfully like a knife and making your eyes burn. You blinked away the tears before smiling at them both and agreeing with their decision. You didn’t have the energy to argue but you could feel the betrayal melt and morph slowly into raw and unbridled rage.

Nanami fucking Kento.

The stress of finding the appropriate time to tell Nanami about the baby fell at your feet in that moment when you closed the door to Yaga’s office quietly and stormed to Nanami’s office. You didn’t knock, all sense of decorum had evaporated the minute you saw that stupid gold name plate on his door and yanked it open.

He was expecting you. Of course, he was. He was the poster child of apathy as he sat reclined in his red leather chair with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded over his chest that made the fabric of his blue button up shirt stretch tight over muscles you had scraped your nails down weeks ago.

“You’re a piece of shit!” you hissed angrily at him, your fists clenching hard at your sides. “You’re a piece of shit that would rather go about his mundane life, doing the same things over and over because that’s what’s expected of him.” His indifferent stare slowly faded into one irritation, hands minutely clenching his arms. “Clock in at the same time, go about the same mind numbing routine during the day, clock out at the same time. You do the minimum of what is required to make your life easy and admonish anyone else who chooses to do more.”

He didn’t respond at first, his mind spiraling with scathing retorts that he wanted to throw your way. He hated the truth in your words. Or the truth to some degree. The bare minimum was all that was really necessary to get the job done, and he got the job done well. He made good money, got home at a decent time, got to enjoy the things he could in his spare time. Why do any different?

“But you went out of your way to make me look like a fool to Yaga because what?! Because I want to do better? I want to do more and make a difference?!”

“No.”

You bit the inside of your lip, holding back a plethora of curses that you wanted to slew in his direction.

“I went out of my way to make Yaga see reason that he was letting someone who has no idea of how this branch works, try to take the helm.” He stood slowly, walking around his desk before long legs made their way to you. You were shaking with anger to a degree that was making you lightheaded. There was no point in trying to hide your emotions from him. He had crossed a line that had released the shackles of your professionalism around him.

That familiar scent of his cologne slowly drifted up your nose, teasing and seductive, trying its best to make you pliant and submissive. You wouldn’t give in. You wouldn’t. Not this time.

“Your ideas are not bad, y/n. But with this environment, in this kind of office, they will only do more harm than good. To everyone else you are the breath of fresh air that can bring this company to the top of the marketing food chain. But I see right through you. All your suggestions are nothing but a desire for attention.”

The rage flared in your gut, your eyes widening in defiance as you opened your mouth to argue.

“You’re a bright eyed marketing specialist that just wants to be seen, a status climber with no regard for the long term effects of what you want to bring to the table. You’ll do anything to get ahead, even if that means tearing down the company that helped elevate you.”

The sound of your hand making contact with his face should have shocked you. Nanami’s head, that was knocked to the side from your harsh slap, turned back to you, his eyes wide in alarm and cheek blooming red.

You were delirious with rage, shoulders heaving deeply as the smell of hate leeched through your pores. You never would have expected those words to come from his mouth, no matter how serious and stoic he naturally was. You ignored the alarming bells of workplace assault in the back of your mind.

You didn’t care. You didn’t fucking care. He deserved it.

“Well, I’m glad to know how you really feel. That makes this so much fucking easier.” He still hadn’t moved, his eyes beginning to blink away the shock as he gaped down at you. “I’m pregnant.”

You didn’t think he could look more shocked as the words spat from your mouth. You didn’t take pity on him, if anything the expression on his face only fueled your words more. 

“I’m keeping it, even though you have no say in the matter. I don’t need your help and frankly I don’t want it. If you want to be involved in the child’s life then I won’t stop you, but I have ten months to be away from you until then.”

You walked to his door, ignoring his silence before you turned to look back at him. “You were right by the way. That night was definitely a mistake. And while I don’t regret the fact that I’m pregnant or that I’ll love it any less, I think I’ll hate the thought that you’re the father for a very long time.”

You didn’t slam the door this time, the anger seemed to evaporate from your body the minute the a/c from the hallway hit your face.

When you finally saw Ome, the look on your face must have been enough for her to piece together what happened. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask for an explanation, didn’t try to tease you to put a smile on your face. She simply helped you into your coat, put your purse over your shoulder and grabbed your hand. Her soft skin was like a tether, grounding you as much as possible to the present and reminding you that you weren’t alone.

You didn’t see Nanami as you said goodbye to Geto and Gojo or when Yuji pulled you into a teary hug, even though he would probably see you in a few weeks. But you were glad Nanami didn’t seek you out, because you didn’t know if the sight of his face would flare the anger inside of you again or make you burst into tears.

This should have been different. It should have been a heartfelt moment; a pregnancy test wrapped in a cute ribbon as you presented it as a surprise to him. It should have been tears of happiness, two people lovingly coming together to celebrate the beginning of new life brewing in your belly.

But as you were slowly and painfully beginning to accept, nothing goes as planned. No matter how hard you worked.

#Nanami kento #Kento nanami #Nanami Kento x reader #Nanami Kento x black reader #Nanami Kento x black fem reader #nanami x you #Nanami Kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #It Had To Be You #mysteria157 #anime x black reader #Nanami Kento fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk x black reader #Nanami Kento smut #jjk au #masterlist #It Had To Be You masterlist